Fearless On My Breath
by ave-caesar
Summary: Shirley knows her stuff, knows it all. Entering in to Arkham Asylum will be a breeze, she tells herself. Oh how it's never how it seems. Especially with a predator like a shark, watching your every move. Kind of OC/Great White.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N UPDATE: It's been long overdue that some of the first few chapters of this story need some serious touching up and editing to flow with the rest of the story. Nothing dramatic will be changed, but I have expanded them. Oh and I've taken out some incredibly embarrassing lines and mistakes (like how Shirley was **_**originally **_**a blonde!). Thank you to my readers, reviewers and beta Night Monkey. **_**Jazz**_

**A/N: I'll tell you now, my character is not a Harley Quinn. She's got more self-respect then that. Not sure whether I'll keep this a one-shot or make it a story. More information available on my profile with links. Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

"Dr. Gibbs?" Dr. Gretchen Westler asked in her accented voice, though still managing to sound monotone.

"Yes! – Ah yes, I am here." Shirley jumped up with a flash of excitement, but reminded herself to not look too eager. Especially not like an annoying woman. Mentally, she couldn't stop grinning. Adorned upon her was a white coat. Call it cliché, but wearing this white coat was like the polish on her freshly completed degree.

Vibrant, fresh and extremely intelligent was how Shirley's father had always described her. Her friends would have agreed, if she's had any friends. Being who she was, Shirley had found friends only had a certain number of benefits. Remaining neutral in her social interactions was what she'd aspired to in her life. Cold and removed, however, was how her mother described her. None of those things mattered at that precise moment. Today was an extremely important day, pivotal even. It was her first day of her job. The first day of her _prosperous _career.

Dr. Westler frowned at the new, young doctor. The woman was plump and short with blonde, messy curls falling all over the place. Her hair would need to be in a more controlled state. It wasn't for looks, but rather for safety. Westler guessed that the new doctor would be pretty if she took care of her appearance.

"Dr. Gibbs, before you continue I would ask that you fix hair. It is quite unsuitable," Dr. Westler coldly stated, turning back to her papers. Shirley was hurt but knew she had to ignore it. Nervously she reached in to her handbag and found a black elastic band. Tying her hair up, she looked back to Dr. Westler. The doctor abruptly handed her a slim black folder, loose pieces of paper, and a pin, her nametag. It was the cherry for her coat. "Now Dr. Gibbs you will be working with another new doctor, quite young like yourself." Dr. Westler held back from also saying inexperienced. The younger doctors always had this annoying gleam in them that usually ended up distracting them in their duties.

"Oh really?" Shirley masked her slight anger and hurt at the prospect of working with another doctor. Especially a new one like herself. Shirley wasn't too proud to say the attention being spread over the both of them annoyed her.

"Yes, _really_. Dr. Harleen Quinnzel." Shirley mentally groaned. She knew Dr. Quinnzel. Rather than study, Harleen or 'Harley' as she had preferred, had used other means to get her degree. Ones that set in an instant dislike. Shirley really didn't think she had the mental capability to handle the criminally insane. But she had been wrong before. Walking through long and sometimes pointless hallways and through a courtyard, they came to the front of the Intensive Treatment where Quinnzel met them.

"Oh Dr. Westler, is this the other doc'? We know each other fine! Same classes, right Shirls?" Harley spoke in her high voice, some words seeming to pinch Shirley's eardrums. Not to mention _Shirls_.

"Yeah, funny thing eh?" Shirley smiled insincerely back, missed by Harley but not Dr. Westler. As soon as they were out of Dr. Wester's company, she'd let her cold mannerism slide back in to place. They walked the hallways, Dr. Westler telling them what they were going to be doing for the next few months and some evacuation procedures. Those would be gone over in greater detail in a separate introduction later in the week. Coming to another section of the Intensive Treatment, Dr. Westler got ready to leave.

"Now, this is a rare occurrence, so relish it," Dr. Westler said. Both young doctors eagerly awaited their orders. "Dr. Quinnzel, you showed some interest in the Joker, did you not?"

"Oh Dr. Westler, yes I sure did!" Harley chirped back. Shirley couldn't believe it, it sounded almost like _she _was getting the most infamous and notorious patient.

"He is waiting down in one of the secure interview rooms. Guard Ronald will take you there." Dr. Westler fulfilled Harley's obvious dreams as she was jumping up and down but quickly contained herself. Without a word, Dr. Westler walked away with Shirley barely having a moment to catch up. Shirley was beginning to feel impatient and her high of the prospect of her new job was wearing off.

"Dr. Westler, if I may ask-"

"Hold your horses Dr. Gibbs, we are nearly there." Dr. Westler cut in, knowing already what she was going to ask. Shirley bit her tongue and kept quiet. It seemed that they were leaving the intensive interview rooms. The rooms that they were passing now seemed to have less security but it was still Arkham, thus it was still heavily guarded. Finally coming to an abrupt stop, Dr. Westler turned to Shirley sharply, making Shirley take a step back. "Dr. Gibbs listen carefully to what I am about to tell you."

"Of cou-" Shirley began before Dr. Westler cut her off.

"I said listen." Dr. Westler paused before continuing, perhaps waiting for Shirley to say something, question her even. "Do not let jealously cloud your judgment or duties as a professional and please, spare me your defenses. You will start at the bottom of the high list of the criminally insane and work your way up." The words burnt Shirley's ego and her façade might have cracked if she had not heard Dr. Wester's last comment. She was surprised. Ignoring Quinzel's confusing descent to her new position, Shirley felt immensely flattered. The fresh wounds to her ego were healed and Shirley felt a new fire start in her chest. Arkham thought this much of her.

"It has been decided what you will be given patient #01567, Warren White," Dr. Westler said.

Shirley wracked her brain for a face, some visual recognition. He sounded familiar! Warren White, White, White….Great White Shark! Yes she knew of him. It was more a stroke of luck really, as her few readings of him had been an accident. Nonetheless the articles were an informative and intriguing enough to read. The man had pleaded insane and landed himself in Arkham. He had been quite sane upon his arrival but now he had festered in to what he had pleaded to be. Insane. Without another word, Shirley was left with her folder, the guard standing next to the door. Her patient. Smiling at the guard, Dickens, who rolled his eyes and looked away, she opened the door.

The most intriguing thing in the rare readings of Mr. White was his transformation. His appearance was something that she had always questioned, believing it to be more of a rumour. How wrong she was. If a shark were to turn in to a man, it would be the man in front of her. He really was missing a nose, many of his fingers, and his ears and his sharp teeth were there, something he had apparently done to himself. Shirley didn't know which scared her more, his discoloured and disfigured appearance or the way his eyes were following her.

He wasn't strapped down to the chair, which surprised Shirley. However, she pushed it from her mind. Maybe that was just another silly ideation. Opening her folder she ran her eyes over the summary of his file. Still he had not spoken a word, his eyes trained on to her. The corner of her mouth picked up for moment, and then dropped as she shut the folder. Taking her seat, pulling at her dress top to get comfortable, getting out her new, large notepad and pen, she looked up to Mr. White.

"Good morning, Mr. White," she greeted. He smirked, his sharp pointed smile becoming visible.

"Morning, doctor…" he greeted in return, with a charming and upbeat voice.

"Dr. Gibbs. I'm your new psychiatrist." She had nearly put her hand out to shake but stopped herself, scolding herself for something so stupid.

"New fish aren't you, Dr. _Gibbs_?" he said with a wide smile. Shirley jotted down a few notes and looked back up and smiled, hopefully not looking nervous.

"I will admit, I have not read your full file yet, only the overview. So our interview today will not be," Shirley nervously thought of a word to use, "- structured."

"Well don't mind me Dr. Gibbs, I'm still eager!" Mr. White smiled. His smile was off-putting; it was so jaunty and out-of-place. Not to mention, full of pointed teeth.

"Let's start off with your childhood." An awfully common thing to ask but Shirley knew of nowhere else to start. This interview probably wouldn't even prove to be that useful or beneficial.

"Like anybody else, I would say it was happy and innocent up to a point." Nothing there, he seemed to be honest. Still, she noted everything.

"What would you say about your adolescent years?" she asked, looking back up to Mr. White. She slightly shivered; his gaze was still on her. It was immensely uncomfortable.

"One lucky fish." He nearly laughed. Shirley kept eye contact and held her ground. Control, you have the control, she chanted in her head. She kept her eyes on his; looking anywhere else would show weakness, fear. Looking in his eyes and nowhere else showed that his appearance didn't affect her. She hoped that it was working.

"It would seem, as you say Mr. White, through your childhood and adolescent years you were happy and as you say, 'one lucky fish'. Am I correct?"

"Of course, darling, now you are going to start asking some real questions?" He didn't say it in an annoyed tone or maliciously, which in Shirley's opinion would have been easier; no he said it in a dominant tone, masked by his gleaming smile. It felt like she had been dismissed in a way.

"And Mr. White, what are some 'real questions'?" Shirley asked calmly, trying to gain the control.

"Why Dr. Gibbs, darling, that's cheating. Give it a shot, I promise I won't bite." With a smile like that, Shirley quickly thought of a question that might just gain her control in this interview.

"How has your disfiguration impacted you?" Straight to core! Maybe it was too soon, but White had already started this game. However he reacted to this question would aid her greatly in her diagnosis of him. He laughed, loud and deeply.

"How it's impacted me? It is me, I am it. Nice shot though!" He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. Shirley only looked for the tiniest part of a second but she saw it. Many of his fingers were gone, only the selected few remaining. Shirley groaned inwardly, nothing was getting to him. Looking to her watch she saw that the interview was coming to an end thankfully.

"Mr. White I think that's it for today. Dickens, you can take Mr. White back to his cell," Shirley said loudly, her last go at being in control. White smirked and leered at her as he was roughly pulled out of the room. Shirley let herself slide into the chair. All she could think of right now was, thank the heavens she didn't have Joker. She laughed softly in her mind at the thought of Quinnzel actually making any progress with him. Shirley would make progress, though. Once she broke White's outer shell, she'd get there.

For the remainder of the afternoon, all the way into the night, she studied what other doctors had written about him, interview tapes and the curious case of Dr. Anne Carver. The more she read, the more she realized that he wasn't as 'simple' as she had previously thought. It was obvious that she would essentially have to discard all notes before his 'transformation' as he was sane then. That left her with few notes and only one interview tape and that was with Dr. Westler. She looked up from the desk she had been using and couldn't help as smile stretched out across her face. Dr. Westler had known this, that's why she had gotten White.

Packing her things up and leaving Arkham for the day, she felt equipped for her next appointment with White. She had heard Quinn in the staffroom, boasting about her progress with Joker in their first session. Shirley wouldn't lie to herself. To some degree she still was jealous. It appeared that Harley already had many of the inmates, guards and doctors wrapped around her finger.

Asides from Aaron Cash. There was a reason that man was in charge of the guards and Shirley already liked him. He was smart and 'street smart' with the true grittiness of Arkham. Because she had eaten a late lunch with Cash, Shirley felt that she was fitting in to her new position smoothly. He had asked her about Great White, Warren. She hadn't lied, had said that White seemed to have enjoyed the interview a little too much. Cash had chuckled but warned her not to fall to his charm – he had added that it seemed Quinn was falling for Joker's already.

So leaving at the end of the day in her little old car, she planned out the next interview, to every little detail. White was smart and manipulative. Yes, if she got to him then she would get it – her career would be all that she wanted it to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N UPDATE: Again some edits, thanks to reviewers and readers. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but I'm not completely rewriting them. **_**Jazz**_

**A/N: Thanks reviewer, made my day, this chapter is for you. To the other readers, enjoy. I'm open to constructive criticism, not flaming. I promise stuff will start happening after the next chapter or so, I don't want to rush it. Read and review.**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

"Shirls? You catch what I said?" Harley asked, hurt at Shirley's lack of interest. Shirley turned to her and blinked, coming back from her thoughts. Shirley gave Harley an apologetic smile, more out of courtesy, and Harley smiled in acceptance and readily continued.

"So as I was saying, there I was. In my chair and there _he _was lookin' at me! Telling me I was the first and only one to ask him that question!" she chirped on. Shirley rolled her eyes. In truth she was waiting for her second appointment with White, not really listening to Harley. Westler had reminded her that at least once every few days Harley and herself would have to give Westler an update about how they were progressing with their patients. So far it had been how Harley was but Shirley didn't mind in that sense – she just wished she'd shut up.

"Well Harley, it would seem that you are making an impact."

"I know right? So how's your patient, you never said who it was!" She giggled, playfully pushing Shirley's shoulder. The playful manner was lost to Shirley and made her cringe away when Harley drew her hand back.

"Oh well, I've been given Warren White-"

"Oh no! Not him! You know what Mr. Joker said about him?"

"What?" Shirley said, feigning a bored tone. Secretly, however, she was desperate to hear anything that would help her with White.

"That he's the _worst _person he's ever met," Harley replied in righteous tone, as though the Joker word was gospel. This did not mean that Shirley would dismiss Harley's comment. It was merely how she had said it. To be fair, Joker was essentially a celebrity in the crime world, specifically the insane one. Even so, it was a bold statement. Regardless if it was the Joker or not.

"Did Joker voice any other opinions about Mr. White?"

"We-he didn't want to talk about it. We moved on," Harley stopped herself at the beginning, making her stutter over her words briefly. Shirley noted this. Looking to the plain clock on the wall, she realized that she would have to start making her way to Intensive Treatment.

"Harley, you haven't been informed in regards to when are getting our other patients?"

"Oh no Shirls, you'd have to ask Dr. Westler. But hey, we're going fine right now aren't we?" Harley asked. Shirley stood up and looked down at the gleaming blonde.

"Indeed, Harley." Reflecting quickly on her conversation with Cash the previous day, she wondered how long Harley would last. She was already speaking about the patient in an inappropriate manner. Leaving the staff room, Shirley walked over to Intensive Treatment. Catching her breath, she walked in to the interview room that White and she had occupied. Until the Asylum found her an office, this room would be her temporary office. Sitting herself in her chair and grabbing her notepad she quickly read what she aimed to achieve in this interview. _Establish Control _was the main and most important point. If she didn't have that, then she would be a failure like the majority of doctors that had left Arkham. Looking up she saw White come through the door with Dickens. Funny, she said in her head, White's wrists were not in the expected cuffs – similar to yesterday. Shirley looked at Dickens, who looked guilty and suddenly nervous. It also seemed as if they had been talking. Shirley gave him a small smile, confusing Dickens. Dickens shuffled nervously at the door.

White was seated and Dickens left the room. Silence. Shirley crossed her right leg over her left thigh and pressed the recording button on her tape recorder. Control, she reminded herself.

"Patient #01567, Warren White, alias Great White. Interview tape number three."

"Interview tapes?" he asked with mocking smile, leaning back in to the couch with a comforted ease.

"Of course, Mr. White, does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Oh no, my dear doctor, not at all," he taunted her. White's stance was relaxed - she didn't doubt the level of his concentration however.

"Now I am going to ask you a list of questions which only require a true," this was off to a great start, Shirley told herself. She was speaking professionally and just at the right speed. "- or false answer."

"Hmm, I see. What you going to hit me with first?" He smirked. God those smirks were already unnerving, she said in her head.

"The definition of a man, a human is as follows: a living organism, a mammal that has clearly-exhibited creative or self thought. Am I correct?" Shirley spoke, only quickly looking down at her notes.

"False."

"Explain."

"There are other organisms that exhibit 'creative' or 'self' thought. Humans like to think they're the only ones, but they aren't."

"That is true. Mr. White, now an animal is basically any other living organism aside from a human?"

"False," he yawned. This was the second time she had been wrong, she hoped he didn't correct her so well like he just had previously.

"Explain." Shirley maintained her cool, professional poise.

"An organism can be anything alive. A plant, a cow, an amoeba, a human. Animals are only one type of organism." He corrected her but not in a righteous tone. Just like it was, no more, no less.

"Right you are Mr. White, my mistake. Any other mammal not a human is an animal, then?"

"True."

"And a fish is a limbless, cold-blooded vertebrate animal with gills and fins, only being able to live in an aquatic ecosystem?"

He paused, and slowly answered. "True."

"Now Mr. White, with what all you, you yourself have acknowledged would you say that your alter ego, Great White is contradicted?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. You're looking at it from a shallow view, aren't you Doc?" He bounced back, stretching his legs out. Shirley held her ground and kept up her own alter ego.

"I'm looking at it from a scientific point of view. You have acknowledged that you are a human a man and not a fish."

"A shark, Gibbs."

"Dr. Gibbs."

That was probably the high point of the interview; from there it was all downhill. White continued to have sharp-witted replies, which left Shirley mentally and physically exhausted by the end of the interview. This would be hard, hard work. Dragging her feet to the small desk in the corner of the room, she pulled out Warren's file. Skipping past all the papers she grabbed out a few photos. Splitting them in to two groups at either end of the desk, she pushed the chair back. It was strange to look at the drastic differences between the photos. It was hard to believe that it was all the one, same man. Just looking at the change in his appearance was disturbing enough. Shirley wouldn't lie and say it didn't affect her. It did. She just couldn't let him know that.

Stretching her arms out behind her head and giving her eyes a good rub, she set off to work planning the next appointment. It had to be perfect.

* * *

Shirley had hoped after sitting in that small room for near three hours that she'd be able to have a peaceful break. She had seated herself on one of the stray benches that looked out towards the Gotham skyline. It was probably around five now and the sun was setting. The serene environment though, did not last for long. No longer then ten minutes had passed since Shirley had seated herself there before she heard heavy footsteps. From a young age, she had always observed how a person walked by the sound their feet made when walking. The speed, pace, how the foot sounded when it was placed down. Shirley assumed that a man was walking in her direction. Instantly the serene environment died. Peeking over her shoulder she saw it was Dickens. Wonderful, she groaned mentally.

"Dr. Gibbs!" he said in between breaths. He was jogging up to her now.

"Something wrong?" That probably came out a lot colder then Shirley had intended, so she added a small smile. He hadn't noticed or had ignored it.

"No, just wanted to say hi," he said once he had reached her. She quirked an eyebrow; that was hard to believe. "Well I saw you and thought –"

"From the Arkham East Gate?" she asked. Shirley's mother said she always had the social skills of a rock. She didn't mind, but it nearly always resulted in people disliking her or avoiding her. Usually it would bother, irritate her even because of the consequences. Right now she was hoping her lack of social skills would scare Dickens off.

"Good eye sight?" He nervously smiled.

"Dickens, I really –"

"Greg, just call me Greg." He put his hand out. Her eyes dropped to his hand. Slowly she reached out and shook it. He continued to shake, longer then Shirley thought they were to go for. He looked at her, like he was waiting for her to do something.

"Um Dickens-Greg?"

"Your name?"

"Oh," she paused, "Shirley." He smiled; it unsettled her. This felt _strange_. Not in the sense that people didn't come up to Shirley and greet themselves; it had happened a lot in university. Just, nobody would really follow up on their introductions. This felt strange because it felt, _staged_. She wasn't a fool. Dickens dropped her hand and stepped back. She wondered if this was some prank. It wouldn't surprise her; people had often tried to play pranks on her. _Tried_, but never actually succeeded. Shirley was careful about who she trusted and respected. So far only two people had gained those both and she knew they wouldn't prank her. This was also a serious setting, not the corridors of university or school.

"Um, yeah. So I'll see you later?" he went on, kind of leaning for her to say something. Anything. Smile, it confuses people, Shirley reminded herself. Dickens awkwardly smiled, obviously confused. He walked off back in the direction he had come, not looking back. She had noticed from about the age of twelve that if you smiled in situations where it wasn't expected or required, it would confuse people. Being anti-social had its little perks.

After such a _thrilling _encounter, Shirley gave up on trying to soak in the once-serene environment. Dodging the staff, mainly Harley, she went to the car park. The cars that remained belonged to the night staff, which wasn't as big as the day staff. Just as Shirley was driving out, she had an uneasy feeling of someone else near. She looked and saw no one.

* * *

This schedule continued for the next two weeks: Shirley would interview White every day. It felt like she was getting nowhere. He was always a step ahead with his accustomed peachy smile or pointed smirks. Every two days, after trying her best to avoid it, she would meet with Harley to discuss how they were finding their new position. It usually, if not always, ended up with Harley talking about herself and Joker. Today was different though.

"Dr. Gibbs, a word please?" Dr. Westler asked, poking herself into Shirley's temporary office. Shirley nodded and followed Westler out the door. Shirley was slowly growing used to Westler's fast pace. It wasn't annoying like it was on her first day but still frustrating. Finally catching up to the doctor, she began to talk.

"Dr. Quinnzel called in sick today, so you've got Joker."

"When?" Shirley asked.

"Now," came Westler's short reply. Shirley tried not to look too confused. It was perplexing enough that they had given Joker to such a new doctor. To make the same decision again, it almost made her forget the actual patient she would be interviewing.

"Now, shouldn't I read his file first?" In truth, she had already. It had been a while ago, back in her last year of university. No one could enter in to criminal psychology and not read his file, irrespective of him being in any of the courses structures or not.

"I would expect that you already have." They walked on, Shirley constantly having to skip a few steps to catch up with Westler's pace. She didn't know whether or not to be happy that Harley was ill today. The prospect, now after having White for two weeks, of interviewing the Joker was petrifying. Two weeks ago she was envious of Harley but now, now she was thankful. She didn't feel ready. Shirley would have asked why Westler herself wasn't taking Joker, but knew that Westler was very much focused on Victor Zsasz right then. Coming to a halt, Westler opened the heavily guarded door, thrust Harley's notes in to Shirley's hands and walked away. Two guards stood at either side of the door. Slipping in to her professional mode, Shirley walked in with her head high and shoulders back.

Unlike with White, they were taking no chances with Joker. He was handcuffed to the chair with two thick, buckled straps running across his torso and thighs. She slipped in to the seat facing him and glanced momentarily at his haunting face. Flipping to Harley's most recent notes she skimmed across the notes. Odd, she thought. There seemed to be a lack of notes. There was a mere half a page and the notes seemed to be extremely general. Shirley knew that she wrote an excessive amount of notes. But she also knew how much a doctor was expected to jot down. Especially when the Joker was the patient. The lack of notes made no sense because Harley never shut up about the bloody man.

"So doc, how's White?" The Joker crooked his head to the side and smirked.

"Mr. Joker, this is your interview."

"What if he's _targeting _me? What if I'm upset? Because of _sharky_." He feigned. Smart tactic. Not the 'targeting' line but more his intention. Joker had instantly taken the spotlight off himself, strange but not unusual. He wanted her to talk about White.

"If that is the case Mr. Joker, I am sure you can discuss it with Dr. Quinnzel in your next interview. For now, I'll follow up from her notes," she replied. Looking back down at the last point, she mentally shuddered. Harley wrote like an adolescent girl. Her handwriting, whilst neat, was curly and had hearts on top of 'i's. The last note she had written was:

_Mr. J seems to recognize his actions are harmful._

Mr. J? And harmful to whom or what? That note was so general. Shirley decided she would expand on this note and ask Joker questions related to the note. Looking back up, Shirley smiled. Her little smiling trick wouldn't work with him, though. He was the master of smiles.

"Joker, Dr. Quinnzel has made a note here that you recognize your actions are harmful. This is true?"

"Of course."

"Then you must know that it-"

"Tut-tut doc, you never asked in what _context_."

"Alright then, in what context do you mean?"

"Say here doc, I blow up a school. What am I labelled as?"

"Evil. But from your persp-"

"Perspective! Perspective doc, that's the only difference!" he said. Shirley scribbled down some notes on a separate piece of paper. Perspective; of course. She felt like slapping her head – this was first year stuff.

"Talk to me about your perspective."

"What's there to say? It's gr-_eat_." He replied, finishing of slowly with a dark look.

"To you, referring back to your example, what are the implications?"

"One hell of a joke."

"And what would that joke be?"

"That, a school's always." He hysterically laughed, thrashing around in his chair uncontrollably. Shirley rolled her eyes; he really was quite the _joker_. She was thankful on one level though. His appearance wasn't as disturbing as White's. His skin was white, not bleach white, but white enough. The green hair was odd; it didn't look fake. It looked quite real. He was tall and she was glad he was strapped down in the seat. Those straps seemed to be doing quite the job of restraining him, he was laughing uncontrollably.

"Mr. Joker I would ask you to restrain yourself."

"You seem to have done that already, doc!"

"Dr. Gibbs."

"Sure thing, doc," he said darkly. This interview was going nowhere, Shirley told herself. She didn't really want to be here. Right now she would usually be preparing for White's interview in her still _temporary _office. She didn't mind the office, she just didn't want it to be temporary anymore.

"Mr. Joker I'm afraid to say that I think this is all you can manage today-"

"Awww don't be like that _Shir-ley_."

"Guards!" That was the first time she had snapped. And it didn't get by by Joker. He smiled even wider, if possible, as the two guards with another following behind dragged him roughly away. The electronic metal door shut with a low thud after they left. Her heart was pumping adrenaline through her veins. She felt nauseous. She had made a deliberate action to avoid saying her first name around patients. It was Dr. Gibbs and that was it. Work was work. Her personal life couldn't become entwined with that. Grumbling, she got up and gave herself a shake. She couldn't afford to be shaky around White.

* * *

"Why Dr. Gibbs, I'm hurt." White pouted when she walked in the room, out of breath. The pout was more disturbing then cute. Greg had tried to greet her when she rushed in to her temporary office but she just glared at him. He got the message and shrank back to his place. Slipping in to her seat she pulled out her tattered notebook for White.

"Mr. White, I apologize for my lateness."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: First off I'd love to thank my new Beta, **_**Night Monkey**_**. She's a toughie but I love her for it. Love my reviewers too! Sorry about delay. Check out my profile with links to my **_**story blog**_** and updates. Read and review.**

**P.S. For any of the well-read Batman fans, can you tell me which line is ironic? I'll give you a clue; Shirley does not say it. You've got a week and there will be a reward!**

**Warning: pedophilia references/themes**

**Disclaimer: Batman is mine, I'm going to have the Joker's BABIES and he's also mine. And my name is Raven. Shoot me if that happens. You know the deal.**

Opening her eyes, Shirley groaned. She had woken up at five in the morning, _again_. This had been happening every weekend morning since she began working at Arkham. Expect for the one Sunday where she had been up all night seeing a play with her parents. It was Saturday today and she had really wanted to sleep in. Rolling on to her back she looked up at her ceiling. A month had transpired since she had walked in to Arkham as a _real_ psychologist. The demands of the job were more tiring then she had first thought. Especially when Harley had found out about her interviewing Joker, that _one_ time. It had only been when Shirley had come back the next day with a two-page document, summarizing the interview that Harley lost it.

"How could you?! You know how much interviewing him means to me. He can't handle having another psychologist!" She cried, throwing her arms about wildly. Harley looked tired and slightly pale. Not that Shirley cared.

"Harley I will remind you that he is a _patient_, he's not a child-" Shirley began, slightly surprised. Harley wasn't defending him like a patient. Harley was possessive and sounded almost like, like a _mother_. Or worse.

"What would you know, why-" Harley began to rant on again.

"He's a grown man, a psychotic, mastermind _murder_. Get a grip Harley." The last part stung Harley and Shirley observed that she was now silently fuming. She stormed to the door of the staff room but before she left she turned her head towards Shirley.

"Dr. Gibbs, do not call me _Harley_." And with that she left. The staff were looking strangely at Shirley. Their gazes though, were more directed at who had just stormed off out the door. This did not go down well, for either party. Westler had been in the staff room, at one of the far tables. She had pulled Shirley aside and had talked to her.

"Dr. Gibbs I would have expected you to exhibit a more professional attitude." She sounded disappointed. Shirley felt a sharp pang in her chest.

"Dr. Westler she-" She fired up, angry that she was getting in trouble.

"Do you want to lose White? Warden Sharp is already uneasy about Dr. Quinnzel and yourself having White and Joker. You are new and young, your punctual manner is inexplicable." Westler cut in with the slightest anger hinted in her voice. Shirley could merely nod, after that she was advised to take the rest of the day off.

Groaning again and deciding that it was her weekend, not Quinnzel's, she jumped out of bed. Dragging herself to the bathroom she showered and cleaned up for the morning. Slipping on some jeans, a dark blue long sleeved top with a thick black jacket and her dark wine boots, she was done. Not the most stylish outfit but Shirley liked it. Plus it was comfy. And this was all done by seven. Her parents had, mostly her mother, had encouraged her to go out today. Her father was worried that her new job was taking a toll on her rather more mentally then physically. Her mother on the other hand was worried about her ever-decreasing social life. Shirley in all honesty could care less. Books held a captivating power of her and she'd much rather invest her time in their interminable wealth of knowledge. Even right now, she had been re-reading one of her favourite books about psychology. _The Ego and the Id_ by Freud. Shirley had an extensive range of books, from all genres, fiction and non-fiction.

Running an exasperated hand through her hair and looking at the time, she headed out the door with _The Ego and the Id_ in hand. She played with the idea of going to a café but reminded herself that it could get crowded, especially on the weekend. Looking up in to the sky, it appeared that the clouds in the sky were higher then they usually were, ergo it wouldn't be raining today. Hopefully. As much Shirley tried to deny it, White was getting to her. Whilst his appearance had a diminishing effect on her, his personality was quite the opposite. And he'd taken to calling her by her first name. Her name would swirl its way around his mouth, like a sweet liquid whenever he said it. He appeared to savor it. Shirley shuddered. She'd tell me him to stop, professionally, always professionally. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn't. Pushing those thoughts away she continued on walking. With her head down, and legs moving fast she failed to notice a group of some rather distasteful men smoking some cigarettes and making crude jokes. She bumped in to one of them slightly and the next action, well, was expected.

"Watch where you are going bitch!" Panic and adrenaline seeped rapidly through her veins as she looked up in to the face of the gruff man that was holding her arm tightly. For a minute or more they just stared, fear clear in her eyes and a permanent anger in the man's. Then as if Shirley was burning, he dropped her arm and stepped back. Confused, Shirley stood there for a moment just looking at them. Her natural instinct was telling her to get the hell out of there but she was transfixed. They stepped away from her, like she was the menacing one. The gruff one that had grabbed her started to mumble something, but it was inaudible to her.

"Sorry Miss! You have a good day!" He said finally, nervous as hell and ran off in the direction his companions had run off to. Shirley stood there with a jumble of emotions and thoughts. She was breathing heavily, still in shock and on the verge of a breakdown. She didn't know that though. But finally her natural instinct got the better of her and she belted off. She ran in no initial direction or location in her mind, but absentmindedly she was running to the library. Onlookers stared at her as she ran past them but weren't really that worried. Tended to happen. Making it to the steps of the library, she slumped down. Running her hands roughly over her face, she felt some tears trickle out of her eyes. Rubbing them away and squaring her shoulders, she got up and entered the library. Shaking ever so slightly she made her way to a table, the furthest one away from everyone. Plunking down in to the seat she held her head down on her arms. Silently she cried. Only for a minute though, after that she was breathing slowly and calming herself down. Reaching in to her bag she pulled out _The Ego and the Id_ and opened it up to her bookmark. Feeling a sense of security and calmness, she became engrossed in Freud's words.

Time went by, as did Freud's words. Her Saturday dissipated before she could tear her eyes away from her book. Pulling her gaze away from the book finally, she stretched, cracking a few joints and her neck. She had almost forgotten about the incident with the men. As soon as she closed the book, the sense of security that had filled her evaporated. Looking around it was clear to see that the library had few remaining people there. Packing her bag, she left the library and caught a cab home.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Gibbs, did you not hear what I said?" Westler drowned. She noted that the young woman seemed agitated today, something had only happened on her first day.

"Sorry Dr. Westler, may you repeat it please?" Shirley looked back at Westler. Saturday had really ruined her weekend. On Sunday she'd gone to a local convenient store and bought her groceries, though with a new addition. Expensive pepper spray. For the rest of her _lovely_ Sunday she read files of patients that conversed with White on a regular basis.

"You are to observe and take notes whilst I interview a patient."

"Thank you Dr. Westler. May I inquire to whom?"

"Martin Walker." It came as no surprise when Shirley's face dropped slightly in to confusion. Weslter smirked. "He's a forty year old man and a schizophrenic. And looking at the crimes he's committed, a pedophile too."

"Has he murdered?"

"No and before you ask, he is a rapist." Westler could at times sound like a mind-reader. Shirley smiled; she was beginning to become accustomed to Westler. Though once she realized what Westler had said, the smile vanished.

"But wouldn't he have just gone to Black Gate?" Shirley already knew the answer, honestly she did. She'd just rather she didn't.

"Dr. Gibbs, any criminal that comes here, is _meant_ to be here, whether they are a murder, rapist or neither." With that they made their way to the interview room. One lone guard was at the door, Matt, Shirley thought in her head. She had passed him a few times. Good guard. Sitting behind Westler, she took out a new notebook. Mr. Walker sat in the chair opposite Westler, in a relaxed position. He was fat, but not obese, his brown hair beginning to grey and bald. Westler didn't appear to have a tape recorder with her. This meant that Shirley had to be all ears and write like no tomorrow.

"Mr. Walker I am Dr. Westler." Westler introduced herself, though not looking up from his file.

"What about her?" He nodded over at Shirley's direction. Westler looked up and caught his gaze.

"None of your concern. Now, Mr. Walker today I would like you to talk about-"

"My obsession with young girls?" He said. Simply said.

"Yes, I would like you to talk about when it started."

"When it started? That's a bit general. It's always been there I guess."

"How so?"

"Well, when puberty ensues other guys my age were beginning to be aroused by women. I played along with it but in all honesty doctor, it was bullshit. Guys would say how fucking hard they felt, how hot that chick was in those magazines." He shrugged, not really bothered.

"So physically Mr. Walker you were never attracted women?"

"To this day."

"I see, continue please."

"I was concerned for a time, I thought I was gay. Going to a boy's college, I rarely if ever saw girls my age. There was this one time, the earliest I can remember I was at the local small library. I was researching for a history assignment and I saw this girl. She was probably a year younger than me now I look back on it, me being thirteen at the time. I just sat there and God, I'd never felt it before. I guessed it was what all the guys back at school had been talking about.

"So you experienced your first erection?"

"Yes." Shirley sat uncomfortably in the room; this guy didn't seem fazed at all. He wasn't embarrassed, not in the slightest. Neither did Westler.

"What happened after this encounter Mr. Walker?"

"Well I packed up my things and ran home. It hadn't gone away, so I fixed it. That's when it started I guess." He shrugged his shoulders. It was like they were talking about the weather, not his attraction to young girls. Shirley faltered in writing more notes. At this moment she'd rather be in a room with Joker.

"This attraction to this young girl, was she the only one at the time?"

"At first. Then I started to notice more of them. Then when I was fifteen I got my first girlfriend."

"How old was she?"

"Thirteen."

"And at anytime did you have sexual relations with her?"

"Two."

"Elaborate please." Shirley didn't want to know; she didn't want to hear anything.

"How so Dr. Westler, cause I can to _every_ detail." He smirked, for the first time showing some desire to what he was talking about.

"Just the basics Mr. Walker."

"As you wish. First time at her house, on her pink bed. Second at a park. She dumped me after that. Last I heard of her, she'd become a lesbian." He spoke, not overly bothered with the last part.

"Why did she dump you? Did she tell you why?"

"Her parents never knew funnily enough, idiots they were. She was scared. I didn't care, she was beginning to get too old."

"Are you aware, Mr. Walker, that under the American law, you raped her."

"No, she consented to me those two times. Same with the other _little darlings_." His tongue lingered on the last two words; Shirley felt ill.

"I think that is enough for today Mr. Walker."

"Pleasure _doctors_." He smiled. Matt came in, cuffed him and walked away. Westler sat there for a moment then turned to Shirley. Shirley wished that his was rude and looked disgusting. He'd look like a monster then, not an average older man.

"Why do you think he is here Dr. Gibbs?"

"Well it would seem that he is devoid of any real emotion, expressionless. Excluding when he is talking about," She paused, "young girls."

"I did not ask you to describe him ." Westler said, her gaze unwavering. Shirley fidgeted. No matter how long you are in university, learning about the mind, about the people with mental illnesses; she never wanted to understand the mind of a pedophile.

"I gather, from this interview that he is here because of the venereal desires he had towards young girls, even as he matured. But, that's not all, am I correct?"

"Yes you are. He wouldn't be here if he was just a pedophile." Westler nodded her head, it was clear she already knew. She was testing Shirley.

"The nature of his crimes also have to be examined, the execution of them but above all, the core factor and indicator will be how he acts towards his crimes, his feelings." Shirley choose her words fastidiously; she had to get this perfect.

"Exactly Dr. Gibbs. From tomorrow onwards you have new patients, Mr. Walker being one of them. Their files are on your desk, in your office." She explained

"My office? I had been told that it was temporary."

"Hasn't been for a while. Now you have White next, do you not?"

"Yes – wait in addition to White?" Shirley asked, nervous.

"Of course Dr. Gibbs, you are a _psychologist_." Westler smirked and left the silent Shirley to not only comprehend the meaning of being a psychologist, but being a psychologist at Arkham Asylum.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry about this late update. I had some big assessments at school last week, needed to focus. I've tried to make this chapter revolve a lot more around Warren and Shirley, hopefully you will enjoy. Thank you to my few reviewers, you keep me motivated. To my readers, thanks for reading. It's really cool to see in the **_**traffic**_** for this story where all the hits and visitors are coming from! Thanks Monkey. Read and Review.**

**No one found the line? Tut-tut. This was the line:**

_**"Dr. Gibbs, any criminal that comes here, is **_meant_** to be here, whether they are a murderer, rapist or neither."**_

**Disclaimer: DC Universe, belongs to, surprisingly, DC.**

If Shirley had a favourite patient, it would be Mrs. Jane Thomson. Favourite though, was perhaps not the best word to use. Tolerable? Yes, but still not the right word. Shirley couldn't put her finger on it. Mrs. Thomson was the only other patient, besides from Mr. Walker, that was not a murderer or rapist. Also, she was eighty-five. The woman, whilst sweet and endearing, was completely insane. Her crimes were in most peoples' views, strange. To put it simply, she made incriminating patch worked quilts, with visual or sometimes worded messages, directed usually at liars or cheaters. It had become quite clear and quite quickly that she was an old-fashioned woman who valued the sacredness of marriage and honesty highly. These quilts would usually be placed on the bed, tucked in neatly. In the last few years (she had been a hard bugger to be found by the police), she had taken to using animal blood in her crimes. Then she'd taken to using human blood. And right now, their interview was drawing to a close.

"Dear-" Mrs. Thomson started, with a soft, motherly voice.

"Dr. Gibbs," Shirley corrected her, scribbling down notes, as usual.

"Dear Dr. Gibbs, would you be a sweet pie and get me my sewing set? I'm afraid I've left it at home."

"Mrs. Thomson, we have discussed this, your sewing set is gone."

"Now who would steal it?"

"Mrs. Thomson, please answer my question."

"A pushy one aren't you? Well no matter. Quilting has always been a joy of mine. You know I've been lucky to win many awards in my time!" It was a challenge for Shirley to keep Mrs. Thomson on topic, she rattled on so much. Sometimes it was hard to imagine the crimes she had committed. She was as sweet, if not sweeter than Shirley's own grandmother on her father's side. But what did a murderer look like?

"Mrs. Thomson, I'll be seeing you next week."

"Have a good day now dear won't you? I'd hate for something to happen to you." The old woman went off in to some other topic, not really talking to anyone in particular. Well talk _at_ people. Moving over to her desk she placed Mrs. Thomson's file and notepad in her 'to sort' container. It didn't stay full for long. Sighing, she realized that she was in need of another cup of coffee. She'd tried to see if she could buy a small coffee maker in to her office but the human resources and safety department said it would be far too much of a hazard. Groaning quietly, she _knew_ that she'd have to go to the staffroom. She needed her cup of coffee before doing White's interview.

Trailing in to the staffroom, she tried to be as invisible as humanly possible. It was and would best if she kept her _encounters_ with Dr. Quinnzel to a minimum. The same could also be said for Dickens, _Greg_. When he was on his breaks, he actually went _looking _for her. Not just if he saw her in the corridors or staffroom, but looking. Luckily the majority of the time his break would be over before he found her. This meant that her office was a danger zone. Same for the staffroom. She had to be creative. But right now, she was being quite predictable.

"Dr. Gibbs!" Right on cue.

"Dickens."

"I was just walking past and I saw you! Small world eh?" He smiled, like she was giving him Goddamn lollies! It was sickening how positively _happy_ he got in her presence. She didn't want to fathom why.

"Considering that we have the same breaks, not really," came Shirley's cold and short reply. She turned her back to him as she filled her mug up from the coffee machine.

"I'd still say that's pretty lucky!" He's an idiot, she groaned mentally.

"Dickens, aren't you meant to be with Mr. White right now?" She sighed, stirring some milk in to her mug. Dickens wasn't fazed.

"Yeah, only in like five minutes. Anyway-"

"Dickens I have to get back to my office and prepare for the interview."

"Oh yeah, I guess I should go to White then…" He trailed off, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his guard jacket. She merely nodded and left him there.

The walk back to her office was peaceful, peaceful for an asylum. In the first few weeks of working at the asylum, Shirley had had long periods of time where she would be starved of work. She'd walk around each facility, the edifices, memorizing the intricate paths in to her mind. Thinking about White, she got that nauseous feeling in her abdomen again. Unknown to Shirley, Dr. Quinnzel was running to get to her appointment with the Joker, which she would be late for in approximately twenty minutes. Neither were paying attention to their surroundings. Dr. Quinnzel slammed in to the oblivious Shirley, both crashed to the floor amongst fluttering sheets of paper. Shirley jumped up, as quickly as she could though she wasn't nearly as fit as the gymnast on the floor grabbing her papers roughly. Shirley groaned, now she was dizzy _and_ slightly nauseous. All before White's interview. Quinnzel didn't even drop an apology before she went bolting off again. Rubbing her hip, Shirley's eye caught a few stray pieces of paper on the floor. Quinnzel must have left them behind in her hast. Bending down carefully she picked them up and nearly dropped them. One had a drawing of the Joker, not with any great skill and the other sheet was blank.

The picture itself was most disturbing in the manner it had been drawn. The lines were sketchy but worked. The drawing was a portrait; nothing overall distinguished about it, spare the subject being Joker. Shirley couldn't get over how worked it was. It could have taken the duration of an entire interview to start, let alone to do the shading. Art classes at high school had been interesting enough for Shirley. The history rather had been more interesting then the practical work. At any rate she had still learnt enough of the basics of the popular mediums. Running her fingers over the lines of the clown's face she shuddered. Quinnzel had been working on this, working on this in her _own_ time. Sighing, she had almost forgotten that she had an interview. Almost.

Walking as fast as she could, Shirley made her way to her office. Naturally, Dickens was already there. He smiled and went to say hello but Shirley just pushed past him. Opening the door, Shirley went in. Professionally. She hoped. Sitting herself down on her chair, folding her left leg over her right thigh and went to get White's notebook. Damn! She yelled mentally, the notebook was on her desk. Looking up at White he was smiling, creepier than usual.

"Why Shirley, you scarcely cross your left leg over your right thigh," He remarked, his gaze directed at her eyes.

"Dr. _Gibbs_. Why would you say that Mr. White?"

"Well, you only cross your left leg over her right when you are _nervous_," He finished darkly. For a moment she couldn't say a word, couldn't think; she was in oblivion. Snapping out of her trance she walked over to her desk, ignoring what White had said. How could she respond? _She_ was meant to be making observations like that about White! But there he was, observing her. Walker would be better! He didn't keep such a fastidious eye on her. Grabbing White's notebook off her desk she sat back down in her chair and looked back up at White. She crossed neither of her legs.

"Mr. White-"

"Call me Warren, I _insist_." The last word came out like a hiss, not in a malicious manner though.

"Mr. White, I would as-"

"You're such a polite one, _Shirley_-" God, why did he have to say her name like that? She didn't, couldn't cower in front of him but she be damned if she couldn't internally. How Quinnzel could sit there and _draw_ the Joker was beyond her. Who wanted to relive interviews like this?

"Mr. White, it's Dr. Gibbs. Now, before the end of our last session you failed to answer a question."

"I wouldn't say that Gibbs darling, it was just incidental that the interview came to an end just when you asked me."

"Would you enlighten me on what I asked you," Shirley asked officiously, trying to annoy White. She had no such luck.

"Of course, how could I deny you? You asked me why I chose the insanity plea." He replied in a falsely charming voice, appearing to be a punctilious patient. Deceiving bastard. She wasn't stupid, unlike Quinnzel.

"Yes. It would have seemed that you were oblivious to Arkham's reputation. After arriving here, what was your initial reaction?" Shirley wasn't sure if this was a sensitive area or not. She had come down to two views, or feelings that White would have on the subject. One would be pure animosity towards her for asking a question and the other would be, well, humour. He would re-tell the events as if it was one big comical story.

"Initially, fear. But hey, everyone is uneasy in a new environment, are they not? I mean, look at me now!"

"Yes, you would appear to be at ease," She replied awkwardly.

"But look at you, the new fish, eventually you should be fine." Should be? She _would_ be. God, she had to be.

"This fear you had-"

"Gibbs, you can't honestly tell me that Arkham is a walk in the park. I'd be _crazy_ if it didn't strike some fear in me."

"That much would be expected. Arkham would scare you, you were vulnerable-"

"It had nothing to do with me being vulnerable!" He snapped. A silent pause followed, both people were shocked. Shirley smiled deviously and scribbled done countless notes, even some diagrams. White, for the first time had exhibited some form of vulnerability. And Shirley would be damned if she wasn't going to exploit that fact.

"I've read that you had much difficulty fitting in, what do you feel was the cause of this?" Shirley for the first time in weeks had got a lead on White. Something to use against him, make him crack. She wasn't up for the bullshit the doctors put out in the media about these maniac villains getting the best medical attention. They were hardened, _insane_ criminals. You needed to be hard with to show your worth, otherwise they'd use you like a puppet. And Shirley was not going to be a puppet; no way in hell. She wished that her fire were that strong but in honesty, White still scared her. Thankfully though, with this new knowledge she would finally have some kind of leverage against him.

"Wouldn't it be obvious, doctor?"

"To myself, obviously. But we are not here to converse about what I know." Imperative

"Fair point Shirley, nevertheless I would still love to hear what _you _think," He smiled and leaned back in to his chair. His physique was something that she had tried to avoid. Just looking at the mere transmogrify between Warren White to the Great White was chilling enough. His personality devious and controlling, as was his stance. Thus this was why she focused on his face. was

"Mr. White, I have asked you a question. To further _my_ knowledge and understanding I need you to elaborate," She hadn't meant to sound so venomous. She had no trouble being professional with all her patients; she didn't need to think about it. With White she had to constantly remind herself not to lash out at him. For the first time, he rolled his eyes. Oh the small things, she chuckled mentally.

"Had a company, embezzled money from pensioners, got a few people hit up and landed myself here," He rushed with a bored tone, looking away from Shirley.

"That is all very well and done Mr. White, but yet again you have failed to answer my question."

"And I'm afraid doctor that you really are getting too talkative," He said, not in the usual, annoyingly charming, smooth-talk voice. She wanted to give herself a little cheer; she'd hit a nerve.

"Mr. White maybe it would be a good time to-"

"It's not a good time Shirley, not a good time at all," He hissed, his head snapping to Shirley's direction.

"Mr. White your obduracy is making this difficult."

"Obduracy? Now there's a word you don't hear often."

"Maybe it would be better, I think I'll call-'

"Could we discuss another topic?" He looked back to her. Shirley really wanted to continue to ask him about his early experiences at Arkham; his vulnerabilities.

"Very well. What would you think a sufficient topic?"

"One of the lovely old clichés. My childhood, you never did dive too deep in to that. Or perhaps a tale about one of my lovers."

"One of your lovers?" Romance was something that Shirley was not good at. She understood the science of it, what people supposedly felt for each other, in a quite removed manner though. Love honestly was a rare thing in the world, a fact that Shirley was happy with. Over the years when she had been at college, she dated two guys. Never went anywhere. For some odd reason, they had both wanted more of an 'emotional' factor in the relationship. Apparently just sleeping with them hadn't been enough. After those two failed relationships, college became everything, more than it had been before.

"I've had many of them," he replied slowly

"Both genders?"

"Just the ladies Dr. Gibbs," he replied with a lusty smile and his gaze running over her seated figure. Shirley shifted uncomfortably in the chair, not at all pleased with the _progress_ of this interview. He leaned forward in his seat and moved his arms to rest loosely on his knees. The whole situation had changed. Within a scarce amount of time the control, 'upper hand' had switched from Shirley to White once more.

"Are you still in a relationship Mr. White?" He looked at her with a lusty gaze again.

"Was, but she ran off to the arms of Bruce Wayne, that playboy, C.E.O. of –"

"Yes Mr. White, I am quite aware of his identity. Now what was her name?" Shirley cut in, not caring to hear about some playboy idiot.

"Jealous are we?"

"Hardly, I just want to know who we are talking about."

"It's nice to know you care." Shirley wanted to make a sharp comeback but she also wanted to remain calm and in control. Waiting for him to continue, she fiddled idly with her pen. "Raven Clawson, that was her name. Always sounded like a courtesan's name to me, what do you think?"

"My opinion has no importance on such a topic, but I thank you for the name," She replied duly, scribbling down the name. Mentally, she did for once agree with White.

"Pleasure." And yet again, the interview proved to being a raving success. For another half hour Shirley got to listen to White tell her about the tales of his lovers. It was painful. At that moment, for one moment, Shirley believed in God. Why? Because only God could think of such a cruel torture.

When it came high time for White to be collected, she practically thrust White at Greg. Rubbing her face she groaned. It would be long day, she just knew it would.

* * *

Bouncing on the spot, Shirley fiddled with her keys at the front door of her apartment. Blast the coffee! She yelled in her head. The coffee had _not_ done its job and aided her with White's interview. Now the useless coffee had come back. Finally opening the door, she ran in, dropping her bags and ran to the toilet. After finally being relieved (traffic is _never_ good after 5 pm) she had a quick shower and dressed in to some comfy, baggy pajamas.

After reviewing her notes from White's interview one of her patients had thrown a fit in the food court and demanded that he see justice from the jellyfish queen, at once! Suffice to say it had taken a lot longer to convince him that no, there were no yellow ducks coming. To this he continually replied that of course they weren't coming, not today. Finally he gave some sign of obeisance to the jellyfish queen, to Shirley. Never in her life did she think that she would hear such things. Now though, she was returning to the world of the sane. Tonight she had decided that she would catch up on some much-missed reading. The crime book that she been reading on and off for the last few weeks by Thomas Harris, which itself was odd. His words had somehow lost its hold on her, but she knew that King was there to save the day. Walking over to her computer she caught up on the latest headlines. Sometimes she had to remind herself that no, these headlines were not from an awful story off the Internet, that yes they were actually real. Looking through her RSS feed updates and finally her e-mail for any notifications about the World War II history books she had ordered, sadly she was met with none. Only another e-mail from Gotham City College. Surprising even herself, she opened it.

Another bloody open night. This time it was the astronomy night.

Shirley loved many subjects and areas of study, but astronomy was definitely not one of them. It was showcasing some of the high achieving PhD students. Rolling her eyes she deleted the e-mail; her life was far too important to her for it be wasted at such an event. Seating herself on her couch, she read some good old Stephen King, _Four Past Midnight_. He never failed to pull her in. Hours later, the phone rang. Shirley jumped from her spot on the couch and grasped the phone. Shakily she answered, her anti-social manner settling in.

"Hello," She said with the no inflection at the end.

"Darling! Guess what I've just gotten in the mail," Her mother's cheery voice rang out, rattling Shirley's eardrums.

"The bills."

"No, no, my subscription to Gotham City College magazine!" Her mother chatted back.

"Why did you even sign up for that useless thing? You know they only talk to those young doctors who don't know a thing about the human physiology, not to mention those artists with pathetic excuses for artworks," Shirley ground back, instantly annoyed at the thought of those artists.

"Honey, Jonathon was a good man and you let him go with your insufferable anti-social behaviour. He is a great artist with beautiful paintings."

"Mum, children paint better than he does. Screw the concept and ideas behind his works."

"Stop that! Now listen to me," Her high voice scolded.

"I'm still on the phone aren't I?"

Ignoring her daughter's rude replies she continued. "There is an astronomy night coming up and I instantly thought of you. I know you like that stuff so I thought, we should go together! What do you say?"

"What about Dad?" If she was going to go such an abomination, she wanted her Dad there.

"You know your father is in no condition."

"He just needs to get out, staying in that house can lead to-"Shirley went to say but was again cut off by her mother.

"No examining your father like one of your patients! I will not have it!" Her mother shrieked, sounding like she was on the verge of hysterics. "Now will you let me continue?" She breathed, calming herself.

"Go on."

"I thought that you and I could do some catching up and this event is just the place. What do you saying darling?"

"When is it?" She sighed; her mother would eventually get her way.

"Next Friday night, starting at six! I'll see you at the entrance all right? Good, love you!" Before Shirley could decline, the line was dead. Deep down, Shirley knew that her mother meant the best. She was an idiot sometimes though, these being one of those times. Wistfully she placed the phone back down on the hook and dragged herself back to the couch. Hopefully King's words could relieve her of the begrudging events coming up in the next week.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I hate to do this again; sorry for the late update. Caught an awful head cold and on top of that had to hand in a big assignment all last week. In between that I was sleeping. Anyhow I hope you enjoy this, I've made it so someone makes an appearance (originally wasn't going to). Thank you Night Monkey. Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

**Karmait sucks: I'm not sure. I do know that I want to make this as chillingly realistic as possible, so probably not anytime soon. But things are really going to be starting soon, up to now it's just been introducing everything.**

**The Jackal: Thanks, I wouldn't condemn you to building a statue for me haha. I'm glad it's interesting, sorry for the belated reply.**

**P.S. Sorry about the middle part of this chapter, might be boring.**

**Disclaimer: Plot, original characters are mine – all the rest is DC's.**

"Hey Shirley, you busy tonight? A few of us are heading out for some drinks after work," one of the male psychologists asked Shirley with a smile. Lifting her head from her notes on one of her patients, she looked at the man. Ross, she acknowledged him mentally. When she'd been poring over some files and notes on some of the high-list criminals, his name had popped up once. He'd interviewed Jonathan Crane and after it had politely declined to continue being his psychologist. He really only worked with the lower patients, the 'easy' ones. Mentally shaking herself, she was at a loss at how to respond.

"Shirley?" He repeated, waiting for some kind of response. Ross had seen her in the staffroom countless times since she had been hired at the asylum, but not once had he seen her actually _talk_ to one of the psychologists. Hell, not even one of the cleaners! Only that Dickens, but he knew that only happened because the man was chasing her around. Ross had been working the psychology field for about ten years now and had only in the last eight moved Arkham.

"Oh, busy," came her short reply, stunning Ross by her churlish reply. Ross and the small circle of fellow psychologists he had been talking with stared at Shirley. Her head had already dropped back down to her notes, reading profusely over them. This answer though, would not suffice.

"Busy with notes from White?" he smirked cockily, but was missed by Shirley, whom had not raised her head from her notes.

"No," Shirley breathed calmly, keeping her head down still.

"Well why not tag along?" He asked back, in a jokey tone.

"I don't want to."

The 'conversation' came to an abrupt end after that. Shirley really did wonder why she even bothered coming to the staffroom. Most of the time, the staff left her alone, not including Dickens. Packing her things up, she left her staffroom and began to make her way to Arkham Mansion. She had long ago dashed wearing high heels to work, deeming that really, flats were a much better choice, for safety and comfort sakes. Grumbling, she made her way down the 'paths'. Walking up to large entrance of the mansion she heard a familiar clunking of feet.

"Dickens."

"Shirley how many times have I told you to call me Greg?" He grinned. This was getting ridiculous; he was trailing her everywhere! How could she ever get a quiet moment alone when she had a bloody puppy following her every move? Rolling her eyes, she sighed.

"_Oh_ apprise me once more."

"I heard about the astronomy night that's on tonight!"

"Oh really?" She rolled her eyes, turning her gaze away from Greg.

"Yeah, you went to Gotham City College didn't you?"

"Yes, as I've told you once before."

"Oh you had?"

Shirley didn't hesitate to groan and roll her eyes. Obviously here at Arkham you didn't need to take any intelligence tests to meet the requirements of being a guard. Before Greg could yet again somehow make an attempt to start a conversation, she moved away from him and luckily didn't see him again at work.

Padding down the hallways to her office, Shirley was beginning to have second thoughts to agreeing to go with her mother tonight. She loved her mum, but held absolutely no interest in anything astronomical. It hadn't been a surprise for her mother when she went in to psychology; nevertheless she did still not welcome it. At the most, she had wanted Shirley to become a pharmacist and quit when she would (if) fall pregnant for the first time. Again, she was not surprised that Shirley had no serious relationship in her life. Still, the woman wished.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A sense of familiarity mixed with past anxiety was currently sweeping through Shirley. She was waiting inside Gotham City University for her mother to arrive. As usual, she was late. Now usually Shirley could deal with this, as frustrating as it was. Sitting in the middle of a crowded courtyard in the evening though was something that she did have trouble with. The proximity in which some of these people came towards her had already ruined any hope of her _actually_ enjoying the night. She tried not to imagine what her night should have been like if she had declined her mother. Snuggled up in the warmth of her couch reading one of the many novels plaguing her scarce free time.

Rubbing her jacketed arms, she searched the crowd for a familiar face. From the 'great' vantage point of the bench she was sitting on, all the faces she could see were the ones standing quite close to her. Standing up, she searched the crowd again. There really was no point in calling her mother's mobile, she never answered let alone used it. Running her eyes along the countless faces, one caught her eye. Both of them in fact. Sadly, it was not her mother, arriving late. This was one person that Shirley could only tolerate five days a week without going insane herself.

Dickens.

For some obscure reason, she noted to herself not long after interviewing White that Dickens would somehow constantly be in or find himself in her company. That was not going to happen tonight though! It was Friday night and she had seen him enough times this week. Springing in to action before really putting any thought into the situation, she was off. Deciding that it was smarter to keep low and shuffle between the people in the crowded courtyard then run, she made her way to a small archway. Walking with speed and looking continually over her shoulder it was not long before she found herself lost.

Panting, she took in her new surroundings. The chatter of the crowd could still be heard through the hallways in to the small alcove she found herself in, however it was considerably further away then she would have wanted. Running a hand through her tousled hair, she almost regretted running away from the courtyard. Her mother undoubtedly wouldn't arrive for another hour, insisting that the event had said it would start at seven, not at six.

Groaning at the situation and her inanity she was at a loss for what to do. Sure, she could stay in the little alcove until the event finished, but that was just stupid. It would be more boring than listening to the lectures from the astronomy students. Groaning again, she started to walk back in the direction that she thought she had come from. The chatter of the crowd seemed to be moving, so Shirley followed the noise into another maze of hallways.

It was obvious to her in which direction to go, or rather what hallway to follow. It was interesting how Gotham City University had managed to survive. The older parts of the university were made from varied types of stones and retained a sort of aged wisdom to them. Which is where she found herself, walking down a wide hallway with varied few numbered doors and the aged stones. Right then someone opened the door with a great force, knocking Shirley to the ground. She groaned and rubbed her head, but remained on the floor. The offender gasped and dropped the folder they had been holding and went to her side.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

"I think so."

"Here let me help you up." The man went to pull her arms up supportively but she snapped her arms away from his hands.

"I'll be fine," she bit back, making the man lean back with a confused expression. Folding her legs beneath her she managed to get up and steadied herself, avoiding the man's arms trying to steady her even in her dizzy state.

"Well, can I at least take you to the main hall? I was heading there myself and it-"

"Yeah, okay," she grumbled, he'd leave her alone after this. Besides, she wouldn't admit it, but she was having trouble finding her way back to the hall. When she had been at the university she had been studying on the other side, rarely if ever coming to this section of the university. Walking alongside the man, who was constantly flickering his gaze over to her nervously, they made their way to a door. The chatter of the large number of people increased as they neared the door. He opened the door for her and she walked through quickly, steadying her head. It seemed the presentations had long since started and for some part Shirley was glad. A headache and a boring presentation was not something she could handle right now.

"Um, look I'm really sorry to do this, but I have to go," the man said softly, awkwardly rubbing his arm. She looked the awkward man up and down; he was shaking ever so slightly. If only she had this power of intimidation over White. But he seemed 'sweet'. He had dark brown hair that was messy and in a good need of cut, blue eyes behind some glasses and a slightly off angled nose. By no means was he a dashingly handsome man, a little corpulent here and there but then again, she wasn't one to talk. Overall, he was of average height with and a heavy frame but not fat.

"Where to?" She replied, her tone not comforting the nervous man. She looked around to see numerous tables set up with people crowded around them.

"Part of the, yeah um, the presentation," he mumbled, finding it hard to keep eye contact with the blonde.

"You are one of the PhD students?"

"Yes, I'm in my second year."

"I didn't think they let second years talk at this type of presentation."

"They don't, usually, I should go." he seemed quite agitated and appeared like he was itching to leave her company; why detain him?

"Bye then and," She paused, not accustomed to the following words, "Thank you." He smiled, relieved, he had been wondering if the woman was ice. With that she began to walk off, but she heard the man's voice ring out. There goes the 'nice' feeling she had about him.

"Hey wait up!" He ran up to her, holding the folder in one of his hand. "You going to stay? I mean, um, I am going up in about ten minutes."

"Probably not." She wasn't going to stay, not now. Her head hurt and Dickens was around somewhere in the large hall. The man seemed visibly quite disappointed and disheartened by her cold reply.

"Oh, I was hoping that you would," He went on slowly in a gloomy tone; nothing hinting that he was being superficial. Odd, she said to herself and further observed him. He seemed like a nervous rack and constantly needing assurance. Somehow, he was still sweet. And for that reason she would _try_ to be nice to him.

"How long does your presentation go for?"

"Only about twenty minutes! Seriously it's not that long, just about my thesis on the relation between-" he started, in an excited tone.

"Okay, ah, cool, I'll stay for that," she replied flatly.

"Wow, really? I mean um, I hope you like it," he replied giddily and nervously. He flashed her a smile before racing off to the stage set up at the other side of the hall.

Pulling the sleeve of her jacket up she saw she had been lost in the halls for near an hour and it was now about seven o'clock. Sneaking another glance around the hall she wondered if her mother would show up. Bustling through some small crowds, Shirley saw the familiar face of her mother, an angry one. Deciding not to further her mother's anger, she met her path by walking up to her.

"Six? Six? Shirley you told me it started at seven!" She cried out, a few heads turning to their direction.

"I never told you such a thing."

"Oh Shirley please! Do you have any idea how bad the traffic was? Insane I tell you," her mother went on, fixing her clothes and graying blonde hair. Like her mother, she inherited her blonde curls and somewhat voluptuous and fleshy figure. Shirley rolled her eyes and realized that the man she had been talking to had started his presentation, so she made her way down to the stage. Her mother followed behind her, struggling to keep up with her pace. Seating themselves in some of the leftover seats, they listened to the presentation. It was frustrating to say the least; Shirley was having trouble understanding what they were talking about. Astronomy was something that had never really appealed to her; it was too distant. With psychology, crime, history and a list of other subjects, you could really get right up close with them. Psychology well, she'd always wanted to plant herself in someone's head and see how they saw the world.

The talk went on, the man finished and another PhD went on about his theory, something about Jupiter and the sun's influence on it. Her mother on the other hand was enthralled by the students; she was sure after this night her mother would become an 'expert' on theories related to the planets. Sneaking a glance around the hall, she could not see anybody having any resemblance to Dickens.

Shirley had gone to leave many times but her mother always stopped her and told her how _rude_ she was. Honestly, there were probably fifty, really fifty, better things she could be doing right now. The last few interviews with White had been rather boring; they had been neither successful nor unsuccessful. Finally the night was drawing to a close, and it was just after a quarter past nine. As her mother and her were walking towards the exit of the hall she felt someone grab her shoulder lightly. She jumped and turned around; it was that man again. Really, she didn't care to know his name. The chances of her meeting him again were low and even if she did, it would merely be a smile or wave.

"Hi again, you know I never caught your name," he smiled and Shirley just grimaced. It was even better when her mother realized that they had 'company' and elbowed her.

"Oh yeah," she paused, looking towards her mother but went on, "I'm Shirley."

"Shirley eh? That's not a name you hear often," he smiled cheesily again, winning Shirley's mother over instantly, "I'm Lewis." He put his hand out towards Shirley but she really didn't see the need. She didn't want to touch him.

"I'm Lindsay, her mother," Lindsay put her hand out, which in turn Lewis's lingering hand took.

"I could have sworn that you were her sister," he joked nervously. Lindsay just giggled ridiculously. Shirley rolled her eyes, seriously? Her mother was fifty-eight and looked sixty; nothing like her twenty-six year old self.

"Mum, we have to go," Shirley said, pulling her arm softly. It usually worked but her mother seemed quite determined to talk to the man.

"Oh wait a moment will you dear?" She replied, in a sweet tone.

"Hey, um, Shirley-" Lewis nervously started.

"Yes."

"Um, I was wondering, are you busy tomorrow night?" He said softly, avoiding her gaze. This night, let alone day had really proved to be one to remember.

"Yes," came her cold short reply.

"Ridiculous Shirley! You're probably just working overtime again," Lindsay butted in, sounding sweet but Shirley knew better.

"No mum I really am," Shirley replied, anxious to leave.

"Oh well what about Sunday?" He asked hopefully, looking at her nervously.

"Busy then too."

"Shirley, I'm sure _work_ could let you off early on Monday?" Her mother ground out, only barely sounding 'sweet'.

"I guess," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Great! I mean um, that'll be great," Shirley really, really didn't want to go on a date with him. Especially one that her mother had pushed her in to. This whole situation was embarrassing and degrading. They exchanged numbers and agreed that he would pick her up at 7:30 p.m. Lewis smiled and said he was looking forward to Monday. Shirley just bid him farewell grudgingly. It was about at ten at night when Shirley found herself back at her apartment that it really hit her. Shit, she was all she could say.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was odd. No it was more than that. Minutes before White's interview, which she was early for today, Dickson went home ill. A small guard brought White in and nervously said he'd be outside. Shirley observed White; he was different today. He just felt cold, the room felt cold when he walked in. Might have been because it was raining and the heater in her office was _still_ broken. White merely sat there, taking up the whole seat. Even with him being a 'high-list' inmate, his continuous good behaviour was rewarded with small privileges. One of them being no handcuffs in his interviews.

"Mr. White, how are you today?" Shirley asked flatly, seeking it as a means to start him talking.

"Good enough I suppose," he said, looking around her office.

"Then you won't mind if we proceed?" She asked, not really needing his permission.

"If you wish it," he replied, his eyes still looking around the room.

"It's not a matter of wishing it," she replied, annoyed by his lack of involvement.

"It doesn't have to be, we could just talk," his eyes went back to her, but his withdrawn voice remained. It was uncomfortable. His voice was soft but his eyes were sharp and darker than usual.

"What would you like to talk about?" She asked, fiddling with her papers.

"What we like, what we don't, so forth," he went on, his gaze trained on her.

"We? You would mean yourself Mr. White," she said, looking up in to his eyes.

"Of course not, I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't include you," he grinned smugly and sat up.

"A gentleman?"

"I pride myself on that Shirley, you of all people should know that," he replied, draping his arms across his knees and leaning forward slightly.

"What else would you pride yourself on?"

"Intelligent, witty, charming, the list really does go on," he spoke with pride and smirked deviously, but Shirley knew him better than that. She wished she could say she knew him better than he did himself. Something that she was sure of, though, was that he was malevolent. He didn't or hadn't shown this desire in front of her but she knew it lay there. It wasn't upfront and direct as with Crane or the Joker but it lay there somewhere within him. Whether he would ever show her this was something she was unsure of. Unlike Quinnzel, who was myopic in her interviews and questions, Shirley hoped that she would really make some progress with White.

"What about you?" He asked her, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"What about me?"

"What do you pride yourself on?" A good question, what did she? She knew she was smart and intellectual and was great with psychology: she wouldn't have chosen to study it otherwise. Socially, she had nothing to pride herself on, not that it bothered her. Unlike White, really there wasn't much.

"How does that question relate to _you_, Mr. White?" She ignored the question, taking the spotlight off herself.

"I want to see what you think of yourself Shirley," he said directly, his composure remaining the same.

"Mr. White, it's nugatory."

"I don't see how it is," he replied, looking at her slowly. His gaze lingered on her, taking her in. Shirley fidgeted and made a little note, trying to distract herself.

"Well it is," she replied quickly and without much thought, much to White's pleasure. For the first time, in any interview she'd had with him, he got up. Fearing he was walking closer to her, he passed her. She turned around and saw him looking out her window. He had his arms folded behind him and was peacefully looking out the window. Cautiously she got up and made her way over to him. It was only now that she could really feel the height difference. It only furthered the uncomforting feelings that Shirley had about his physical impact on her. Ignoring it, she continued the interview or at least tried to.

"The psychologist I had before you was a woman," he started and Shirley decided to remain quiet and continue to write notes. She was aware of _all_ his previous psychologists and doctors. That was just information, though; she hoped his words would provide some further insight in to the situation with his previous psychologist. "In truth I only had her for a minuscule amount of time, the rest really wasn't her."

"What do you mean?"

"Jane Doe," he flashed his head towards her. His gaze was sharp and pierced through her, making her want to step back. She held her ground though and stared right back at him. "Why even now, Jane could be here, be you."

"I can assure you Mr. White, I am quite myself," she smirked but he remained serious. He looked back out the window. It wasn't much of a view, but it always proved to be quite calming when she was taking a break from her work.

"I am sure you are," he said softly, unmoving. Pushing the sleeve of her jacket up she saw it was just about time for him to leave.

"Well that's about it for today Mr. White," she said as she opened the door and the small guard walked. At first he was a little unnerved by White's position, but walked over and cuffed him. They walked out but not before White turned his head towards her and stared at her until he turned around a corner. Well that interview had been _interesting_, to say the least. It was also nearing the end of work; White's interview had been moved to her last slot.

Oh shit, Lewis!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Wow, yeah. Sorry I was gone so long. I could rattle off some excuses but I think I'll just give you the chapter. I'm hoping to make updates a weekly thing, I've planned out most of the story. Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

**Lily 3: Thanks! Glad to be different, here's the late update.**

**Mad as a hatter: White's a weird character, very hard to write. I'm glad that its awesome though!**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such are owned by DC, plot and OCs are mine.**

It was cold, really cold. It was that cold where it really didn't matter how many layers of clothes you were wearing, the cold just seeped through, making the extra layers of clothes uncomfortable and awkward. It was still Monday and the day had split in to two parts: at least that's what it felt like. The first part, work, was over and done, except for the continuous flow of paperwork. The second though, was late. Not terribly, but Shirley considered five minutes late. Looking down the street she saw the odd person or couple walk by. She could have sworn once she saw a curious shadow near the building on the opposite side of her street but ignored it. The lights in her street flickered a lot, making her jump many times, just like when she used to walk home, before she got her car.

White had been strange today. From the last few months of interviewing him she knew that there was more to him than met the eye. That much should have been obvious to her. Today he hadn't appeared to be feeling 'down' or upset. Perhaps angry, but not enraged. She guessed, from the look in his eyes, that the anger was being contained and under control. Aside from his at times confusing manner, he had shared some great details with her in to the situation involving Jane Doe. In her opinion, the woman was more frightening than the Joker. At least he was, well, _him_. She remembered pulling out the woman's file, glancing over it because of her name popping up so frequently in White's file. That was the first and last time she wanted to read it. Having to refer back to it, though, was inevitable. She hadn't even read that far into it and it had disturbed her, which in turn was a milestone. It would be better for her to refer back to it, but she'd avoid it, only referring to it if necessary. Which she'd probably have to when summarizing White's interview.

Hearing her mobile phone ringing, she grabbed it out of her black jacket and answered it. She answered with her usual voice, full of life:

"Hello."

"Oh Shirley! Hey, for a moment I thought it was someone else," Lewis said quickly through the phone. Grinning at the remark, she waited for him to continue but it seemed she was to take the lead.

"Yeah I guess. Are you nearby?"

"Yep, just around the corner. I'll tell you what happened when I get there! See you soon!" He said quickly again and the line dropped before Shirley could reply. Slipping her phone back in to its pocket, she pulled her jacket tighter against her frame as the wind blew. A few minutes after the call, an old dark green car pulled up. Making some haste towards the car, not out of excitement mind you, she opened the passenger's door and threw herself in. To her disappointment, the car was just as cold as it was outside.

"You okay?" He says, looking slightly concerned. Shirley re-tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, despite the fact that it had already been quite firmly in place. Annoyingly she looked back up at him and replied:

"Yeah, why?"

"You're shaking."

"It's freezing; do you have a heater in this car?"

"'Course, it's just not working," he replied with a goofy smile. She rolled her eyes and turned her eyes to the window. For a few minutes there was awkward silence and Shirley wanted it to stay that way. Lewis though, he had other plans. "Well on Friday since you didn't know where you wanted to go, I chose, um, so I hope you don't, don't mind," he said, losing confidence as he spoke on.

"Where?"

"A nice little restaurant I know of, they make the best pizza, um, you like pizza? Well any Italian food," he asked nervously. For a clueless man, he had to be either psychic or was just extremely lucky, because Shirley had one hell of a weakness for Italian cuisine.

"Sure," she replied. This seemed to please Lewis immensely, more then she would have expected a 'sure' to have. Then again, he did seem to be quite infatuated with her for some reason. She was no stranger to her cold manner, but found it odd that Lewis continued to talk to her. Lewis went on talking about his day; apparently this 'crazy' person was trying to perform magic on the car in front of him. She wasn't sure about that though it was just easier to nod to what he had said. Apparently she'd have to keep an eye out for a homeless magician, trying to seduce cars. He tried asking Shirley about her day numerous times but learnt soon enough that all he was going to get was a 'fine' or 'long day'.

They pulled in to a small car park and slipped from the car. It was not an amazing little restaurant but Shirley couldn't help but smile inwardly at it. It was quant and quiet, a place that she wouldn't mind being at if she were on her own. He asked her if she wanted to sit outside or inside, in which she replied with inside shortly. It was windy and freezing outside, something she herself could not miss; was he numb?

Settling at a small table near the front of the restaurant, Shirley took a look around. The walls were a dark yellow with plants and Italian kitsch items hanging off the wall. It wasn't crowded, which was nice, but had a few other people at different tables. She noticed a lone man sitting in the corner at the back, with a few bottles of beer on his table. Why not get drunk at a pub? Shirley asked herself and looked back at Lewis. He was smiling at her.

"So, what are you going to order?"

"Not sure."

"Well I know what I am getting lasagne, this special one they have," he lead on, eager for her to ask him why. She looked down at her menu and scanned for a good old spaghetti Bolognese. Ignoring Lewis's waiting expression she continued to read on and jumped when he spoke to her.

"Ah, Bolognese girl are we?"

"Yes," she replied slowly catching his smile and softly smiling herself. After that, she had to admit that she was enjoying the date. It had been a long time since she had gone on a real date. Jonathon had preferred to go to 'intellectually stimulating cafes', whatever the hell that was. To her, they were dodgy little places with shitty coffee and 'art' being exhibited. Lewis wasn't exactly a charmer, not like White. White? She asked herself, pausing. Lewis caught on and asked if she was all right. She nodded and asked for him to continue. Then the food came, delivered by an angsty, acne-faced fifteen-year-old boy. The food was nice, not great, just nice. When he started to talk about his PhD, she excused herself and asked where the toilets were.

"Right up the back, just around the corner over there," he pointed to the back, near where the lone man was sitting. Nodding she went to the toilet. When washing her hands she heard some movement in the tight hallway outside the toilet. Wiping her hands on some paper she exited and walked straight in to a tall man.

"Oh my apologies Miss, just trying to find my way to the men's'," he said in a deep, apologetic tone. Shirley just nodded awkwardly, trying to step past, but he stepped in her way again.

"Hey, were you in the newspaper the other day?" He asked, touching her arm. She shook it off and replied flatly.

"Not to my knowledge."

"I swear, it had to be you. What was the article about, let me think," he paused then looked back down at her, "Arkham Asylum! That's it. Was in one of those local university papers. You doctor to the notorious Warren White, eh?" She didn't recall being in any of the universities' newsletters. They usually delivered a copy and that had only happened once, a few months back when she had been accepted in to Arkham. How this man knew who her patient, though, was a little unnerving.

"I wasn't aware my patient list had been published in a newsletter," She replied sarcastically, again trying to push past. He got a little angrier this time and pushed her back.

"I swear, that guy, he belongs there," the man's expression changed. Whilst she didn't feel too comfortable with this man, she was curious to hear what he had to say about White.

"He does?" She played dumb a bit, it'd make the man feel more advantaged thus more information. God, on her own date, she was worrying about work. He smirked and replied:

"Bastard is the reason my parents are living in a shit retirement home, lost all their money." If that was it, she' heard it before. Just the other day she'd watched an old news segment about people losing their money to White. "What do you think of him?"

"I think Sir, that that is none of your concern," she finished, not wanting to waste anymore time. Giving the man a rough push, she shoved past him and made her way back to her table. Lewis had his head in his hands and looked considerably down. Taking her seat, she played with her fork in her spaghetti. His head shot up and he looked surprised, but happy.

"Shirley! Wow, I thought you had left," he said, wriggling his hands together. She quirked an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine glass. "I mean, girls haven't usually stuck around when, um. I shouldn't have said that," He dropped his head again. She hesitated but touched his arm softly.

"You were saying about your theory? I'm not that good with wine sometimes, if you know what I mean," she stumbled with her words. Honestly she didn't know what on Earth he was talking about with his theory but he had this cute gleam in his eyes when he was talking rapidly. He soon understood that she wasn't catching on and asked her some clichéd questions. When they got to books, they got in to quite a discussion.

"You like those books? I mean, you can actually get through them?" He replied with vigour. She found herself loosening up. It was weird and she didn't like it completely but, she couldn't stop talking to Lewis.

"They aren't just about psychopaths you know, there is more to them," she frowned jokingly, taking another sip from her glass.

"I bet you read King late at night," He grinned, eating another spoonful of his ice cream.

"As much as I can."

"You ever try Michael Connelly? I am more in to the detective books."

"Yeah, been trying to get my hands on _Blood Work._" She glanced down at her watch and realized that they had been at the restaurant for near two hours! Looking around she saw it was empty, except for the man in the back. They must have stayed open for them. Lewis realized as well and went off to pay the bill; he got up before she could propose to go halves.

He dropped her back off at her apartment block and fidgeted nervously on the front steps. Shirley in turn, was just as nervous. He stepped up to her level and took her right hand; she went along with it. He smiled at her and the next few words were like a slap in the face for her:

"You busy this week?"

If she looked anywhere near as shocked as she felt, it didn't show. He stood there, nervous as teenage boy, holding her hand. Waiting for a reply, she tried to get her thoughts together. In truth, the busiest she would get this week was staying late after work to do some paperwork and summarizing. Looking in to his eyes, behind the glasses, she did her best at a smile.

"Nope, Friday, same time?"

"Sure." With one last look, he gave her a kiss on her cheek, unknowns to Shirley, changing his mind at the last minute. The date had gone pretty well, but he wasn't taking chances. He drove off and she made her way to her apartment, missing the nervous shadow across the street.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A trait that now seemed to be accustomed to Dr. Quinzel was lateness. Dr. Westler had asked that the two, Shirley and Harleen, meet with her for some news. To Shirley, it really didn't seem to be anything important. It had been 20 minutes and there had been no signs of the blonde doctor showing. Shirley rolled her eyes and turned to Dr. Westler.

"Dr. Westler, my apologises, I have an appointment after work that I must attend," Shirley fidgeted in the seat. It was kind of an appointment and she'd already stayed after work. Again.

"I was not aware that you had any medical concerns?" Westler looked up from her desk and Shirley resisted a frown. Not that any medical concerns were her _concern_.

"It isn't a medical concern," She replied softly, wishing she had sounded more confident.

"Oh, I see. Well could you drop this off at Dr. Quinzel's office then? She's in secure access, Medical Facility," Westler drowned out, handing Shirley a thin folder. Nodding her head she went to leave but then it hit her:

"Doctor, what was it that you wanted to tell Dr. Quinzel and I?"

"New computers in your offices are being installed tonight. Sharp wanted me to check on how you were both going, in truth." Shirley trailed along the paths, passing a few doctors and many guards. It was then that she saw the famous Dr. Young. Dr. Young had been readily accepted in to Arkham to head the Research Department. She had interviewed many of the infamous category nine inmates and seemed to be still sane herself. She would be lying if she weren't just a little bit envious of her high reputation. Wanting to introduce herself, she bravely walked up to the doctor.

"Dr. Young?"

"Oh, yeah? What's wrong?" She asked, irritated. Shirley noticed that she had heavily applied eyeliner and mascara around her eyes. The woman had her brown short hair pulled in to a tight ponytail. Shirley noticed that much like herself, the doctor displayed the same cold manner. Thinking of something to ask her, she asked about the interesting new patient that was arriving in the next week.

"What are your thoughts involving the new patient arriving this following week?"

"Doctor?"

"Doctor Gibbs."

"Look Dr. Gibbs, how many new patients do you think come in here a week?" Dr. Young said coldly, hand on her right hip. Shirley realized her idiocy in the question and reworded the question.

"Pardon me, I mean the patient under the name 'Patient X'? I find it strange that Blackgate would allow the transfer, with such an elusive title," she said, with more confidence the second time round. Dr. Young paled then frowned.

"How'd you find out about that? That information is classified to Research Department only!" The woman said with venom, making Shirley step back. If the information was so bloody _classified_ then why had she heard some of the guards talking about it? Maybe they worked for that Department but she didn't think so, in the manner that they had been talking about the subject.

"I heard it in passing," Shirley replied, now wanting to leave the frightening woman. To this Dr. Young just groaned and stormed off. Shirley shook her head and continued on to Quinzel's office. Upon arrival she heard the annoying hum of Quinzel, from what she presumed was her office. Knocking on the door she called out her name. The door opened an inch to reveal a dishevelled Quinzel.

"Shirley, how cowinky-dink is it to see you?"

"Pardon?"

"Loosen up girl! Now what do you want?" Harley opened the door a bit more, revealing a frightening site. The messy desk was something that didn't surprise her, but the walls; the walls had posters of the Joker! Bloody hell, heaps of the same disturbing photo of the strange man. Noticing her gaze, Harley stepped outside her office and leaned against the door in a carefree manner, arms crossed over her chest. "Shirls?" When had she started to call her that again?

"Oh, you missed Dr. Westler's meeting, this is for you," Shirley blinked and handed her the folder. She was still shocked at the woman's state of dress. Or lack of. Her coat was discarded, she assumed in her office and the buttons of her tops were shabbily buttoned up. Her pencil skirt was crinkled and her hair had been loosely put into a bun. Quite different from their first day. Harley grabbed the file roughly, creasing it and folded her arms again. Looking up to her face again, she saw that Harley was looking right at her, with a dark smile.

"Thanks," she lingered on the word, her stance not moving though. "So, how's Sharky?"

"By 'Sharky', you mean White?" She rolled her eyes.

"If that's what you call him," Harley again said slowly in a knowing manner.

"What the file says, unless you know anything else," she replied coldly. Harley smirked and walked up to her.

"What's your game? Got 'im yet?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean. You are always staying after work, workin' on him," Harley leered suggestively. Shirley was horrified, what the fuck was she talking about? Harley stood there waiting, creasing the folder in her hand further.

"Dr. Quinzel, I think you are in no position to accuse me."

"Whatya mean by that?" She shrieked, sizing her up. Shirley knew she shouldn't, that she should just walk away and pretend nothing happened. It was what she would have usually have done.

"I'm assuming that the posters in your office were not part of Joker's file," Shirley crossed her arms.

"Don't ya' dare talk about him in that tone!" Harley snapped, dropping the folder on the floor. "Besides who are you to go accusing me? I hear you already got Sharky." Shirley didn't reply and rolled her eyes; Harley snickered. "Don't know why though, he's nothin' compared to Mr. J."

"Mr. J?" Shirley repeated, now angry that something like _that_ was going around Arkham Island. The mere concept that she would, would, with an inmate, her own! Harley looked at her and paled slightly.

"Look you didn't hear or see nothin'," she spat and slammed the door to her office. Standing there, Shirley didn't know what to think. About to walk away, something caught her foot. Looking down, she saw the folder addressed to Harley. Picking it up and opening it she skimmed over the contents. They were transcripts of some of Joker's interview tapes, with Quinzel. A red pen had abused them, she assumed at the hand of Dr. Westler, with notes and comments. Flicking through them, she left them on the floor near Quinzel's office.

After finishing up in her office, she texted Lewis saying to pick her up a little later and he swiftly replied with an 'OK sure c u at 7:45?'. Shirley hated the abuse that English received from the texting world and replied with a 'yes' and full stop. When leaving Arkham's haunting gates, her phone began to ring; her mother. Putting it on speakerphone, she heard her mother call out.

"Shirley! Shirley? You there?" She heard her confused voice flail loudly from the phone.

"Yes mother, you are on speakerphone," Shirley replied loudly, turning the car in to some traffic. This is why she should have left early, the big people-who-work-late wave was upon her.

"Can't you hold the phone?" Her mother replied, annoyed. A honk was heard, then another. The traffic moved forward.

"I'm driving."

"So?"

"What's wrong?" She sighed, getting out of the traffic and taking the back way her apartment. It consisted of lots of turns but it was better than sitting in traffic.

"Can't a worried mother call her daughter?"

"Worried?" Shirley frowned, that wasn't a tone her mother used often.

"Your father misses you. You don't call here anymore," She said softly.

"I'm sorry mum, I've been busy." Her chest constricted up and a deep pain flared inside at the mention of her father.

"With that Arkham place? I don't like it there," her mother said, not the first time either.

"Ma, we have talked about this."

"Please darling, call soon?" She called, Shirley speed down the street and took a sharp turn, hoping no police were around.

"Okay, but I'm going out tonight," she said, only realizing then what it meant.

"Really? With that nice man?" Her mother's voice now contrary to the previous tone.

"Yes Ma, bye, have to go," She replied quickly, beating a traffic light. It was already twenty past seven. Shirley just caught what her mother said before she hung up.

"Love you."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I apologize, this isn't going to be a long chapter. When I was writing chapter 6, I accidently combined the plan for chapter 6 and 7 together. This in turn did not leave me with much to write about, but I have done my best. It's also the last kind of 'introductory' chapter. Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

It was one way to waste your time, something she didn't often find herself (or want to be) doing. It was five in the morning and she was on her laptop, looking up articles about Arkham and new doctors. The universities' newsletters didn't have anything even related to Arkham. She had even tried looking at some of the universities outside of Gotham but she had no such luck. Whatever that man had been talking about did not exist. She guessed he knew one of the guards, they did tend to gossip.

Rubbing her eyes, she made herself a quick coffee and drank it, still tired. Having a quick shower and checking the time, twenty passed five, she made a dash out the door to her local coffee store. She only had one interview today, only because another one of her patients was too ill to remain awake. It was still slightly dark outside, but okay. She walked past her car, dropping her things for work in it and continued on to work, passing the costume store. It was a small little place, but the one and only time she had dressed up for Halloween in university she'd gone there. She had donned a modest fairy outfit, something a fellow student had forced her to do. She figured it was the last time she'd see them and really, she'd wanted an excuse to go in to the store.

Getting to the coffee store she saw there were already some people sitting at the tables, waking themselves up. She ordered a flat white and was out the door, walking quickly to her car. Hopping in to the car she caught sight of a tall man moving in to the shadows across the street. He looked familiar, but he was now gone. She flicked it off, took a big gulp of her coffee and started the car. She'd have to call her mother today. She'd do it after lunch; her interview was in the morning so there were no issues there. Stopping at some lights, she took another swig of the hot beverage. Stretching and turning her head, she realized a black car was behind her. The windows were too dark to look in to but she saw the outline of a tall man. He tooted and she sped off down a familiar path to Arkham Island.

Shirley wasn't too concerned but it did leave an off feeling in her abdomen when the black car continued to follow her. It took different turn when she turned in to the long road to Arkham Island, so she pushed it out of her mind. There were factories near the water. Pulling in to the car park she saw the dreaded outline of Dickens. Parking her car, grabbing her bag and papers, she made her way to Arkham Mansion. Of course, Dickens saw her.

"Shirley!" He called out, running over to her.

"Dickens."

"Greg, you always forget," he smiled, walking in sync with her. "Hey want me to take that?"

"I'm fine." No wasn't good enough for Greg though, he'd taken her bag from her hand. She rolled her eyes and walked faster, Greg matching her new pace.

"So you've got White today?" He asked, carrying the suitcase in one hand. She smiled mentally; it wasn't a light bag.

"Ah, no," she responded, turning in to another hallway sharply.

"I swear you have, I was checking my roster and there it was," he breathed, still trying to catch up with her. Weren't the guards meant to be fit?

"Fine, look, I'll check in my office," she ground out and changed course to her office. Greg seemed unusually giddy. Walking even faster, nearly a slight jog, she made it to her office. Wrenching out her keys she put them in the door lock but it was already open. Frowning she pushed the door open. There on her desk was the brand new computer, with the Arkham logo spinning around on the monitor. Well, must have been whoever installed the computer, Shirley said to herself, who left the door unlocked. Dropping her folder on her desk and Gibbs placing her bag by her desk, she noticed something else on her desk. Picking up the wrapped item, she looked for some kind of identification but found none. Tracing a finger along the wrapping, she ripped it open. She didn't know whether to be flattered or freaked out.

There in her hands was a rare print of _Blood Work_.

Opening the hardcover, she had to contain herself. There was signature, from the author, Michael Connelly. She didn't think Lewis was a romantic, nor did she consider herself one, but this was a little romantic. But more creepy. Looking up she saw Greg smiling lopsidedly, she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"I don't think I ever seen that much expression on your face before," he commented and crossed his arms. Setting the book down on her desk she sat down at the computer. Signing in with her username and password she had been given before Dr. Westler had officially welcomed her, she navigated herself on the server to her roster. There it was, as bright as day, something she swore was not there the other day.

"It appears that you are correct," she said, staring at the screen. Well, there must have been a change? What was she to say? Besides, an extra interview would probably help.

"Yeah well, gotta go! These crazies won't guard themselves." With that he was gone, thank the heavens. Shirley turned back to her new computer and breathed out. Well, this changed things. No great change but it was just frustrating. Pushing her curls back she got ready for a longer day.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You can't deny it, she's hot."

"Hell yeah, I'd go green any day for her." Pushing past the two infatuated guards she began to make her way to her office. She'd just bought some lunch and now she was on time, going to the newly rostered White interview. There was a little bounce in her step, not that she would admit it. She'd have to use her plan for the interview in which she thought was next and write a new one up, no matter though. Arriving freshly on the dot, she sat down in her chair and unwrapped her chicken sandwich. She should call her dad. White's interview wasn't for another good thirty-five minutes.

"Hello?" Her mother's voice called in upbeat tone.

"Hi mum, it' me."

"Shirley! Oh, how was your date?" She chirped; Shirley could imagine her jumping up and down.

"Fine mum, is dad there?" She took a bite from her sandwich.

"Oh yes, I'll go get him." She heard her mother shuffling around and her father's warm voice.

"Shirley, how are you?" He said, in his comforting tone. If Shirley wasn't aware that he wasn't in the best of health, his voice could definitely fool her.

"Fine."

"So working very hard?" She could just imagine him smiling, he could always read in-between the lines.

"As always. How are you?" She finished off half of her sandwich and reached for the other half.

"My old self, watching the game." Baseball, he'd been an avid fan for most of his life.

"Dad you're sixty-three," she remarked smiling, swinging in her chair.

"Ah, I can't fool you. Now dear, when are you coming over?" Her smile faded slightly and she took another bite.

"I'm not sure, work's got anything but a diaphanous hold on me." They talked for a bit more, not about anything in particular. It seemed that her dad's dog, Samson, had found himself a lady friend. It was to her mother's horror that Samson had not been neutered. Especially when Samson was a full grown, large bulldog.

"You'll come by soon? Your mother needs someone else to nag." It was five minutes to White's interview, but knowing Greg, he'd be here early.

"Ha, sure Dad," she laughed and heard a knock at the door, "Look Dad, I've got to go. Talk soon okay?"

"Take care, love you."

"You too." Finishing up her sandwich, she called in the okay. White came in, un-cuffed as usual. He sat down in his chair and crossed his arms. Greg closed the door behind him and left silence. Picking up White's folder, now considerably thicker (but neat), Shirley made herself comfortable in her chair and looked up at White.

"Were you aware of the new interview?"

"No, Dickens just told me. How are you?" He sat further in to chair, at ease.

"Fine Mr. White. Now, today we will be discussing your company." She opened her folder to the interview plan and skimmed it quickly.

"Why? I can assure you it's nowhere near as interesting as me," he stated cockily.

"Your company is an extension of you, I'm sure you will find something of interest."

"Do you find it interesting?" He leered, his gaze settling upon her face, tracing the contours and lines.

"I find it informative." She pressed the button on her tape recorder in her jacket, recording the interview.

"Mr. White, what would you say, in your own words, your company's purpose?"

"The marketing version or the honest, from the bottom of my heart version?" His right hand went to the middle of his chest, for a dramatic effect. Still, now, after all these months, the few fingers still remaining fingers on his hands were quite a sight.

"Yours, Mr. White."

"I knew I was more interesting." He grinned cheekily back.

"Mr. White please answer the question."

"What can I say? I'm great with money." He stretched his arms and moved them behind his head. "I was trickling money out of my clients for a long time. I just let it slip that one time and landed myself here."

"We have talked about it before, do you regret choosing the insanity plea?"

"How'd you know if I wasn't being earnest?" He asked, she quirked an eyebrow at him. He sighed a looked away from her, out the window. "Sure, I guess, not now though."

"Not now?"

"Yep, it's all working for me now."

"And what, Mr. White, would you mean by 'working' for you now?" She asked, scribbling more notes done, curious about the wording in his response. She wrote his response done and circled it, it would be important in the next interview.

"That's my secret, Shirley." She paused, her pen hovering above the scuffed note pad. Quickly, she continued to finish her note and looked back up at him.

"Dr. Gibbs," she said simply, trying to reinforce her position in this interview. He simply smirked and didn't seem at all that bothered with her response. She tossed a string of questions about his company at him, most of them getting the same response; nothing. At times he reminded her of a politician. He was saying a lot, but in the end, had said nothing at all. Groaning inwardly, she placed her note pad and pen quite precisely on the old coffee table in front of her. It was then, at this moment, that she observed something.

White had really nice shoes.

Not that she herself would wear them (men shoes really weren't her thing) but they were nice, considering what inmates were supposed to wear. She looked slowly up at him, but he was already ahead of her.

"Noticed them? I was wondering how long it would take."

"I wasn't aware of any uniform modifications," she said cautiously, straightening back up in her chair.

"There wasn't. Now, can you keep a secret?" He leaned forward, trying to get closer to her. She remained put, but was curious. She'd have to be careful how she worded her next response.

"It depends-"

"I'm sure you'd love to hear about it, it's important," he continued, now barely sitting on his chair.

"Fine, proceed -" she replied anxiously but again was cut short. She flashed her head to the disturbance, Dickens.

"White, time to go. Aaron Cash heading this way, Shir- I mean Dr. Gibbs, I don't think he'd want to see you favouring White," Greg cautioned, poking himself in to the room. White seemed irritated but proceeded to be taken away by Greg. Shirley though, was _extremely _annoyed. She had been that close, that close! And her favouring White? She'd sooner rather eat her own hand then even think about that. Then Cash has to walk by. She looked down at her note pad on the coffee table and realized she hadn't jotted any of the past ten minutes or so done. Thinking on it for a moment she decided it wouldn't be the best to. Besides she already had about two and half pages of notes, a couple more lines wouldn't mean the end of the world. Just as she was packing herself up she heard a knock at her door and it opened before she could say anything.

"Dr. Gibbs, White no trouble I hope?" Aaron Cash asked in his gruff voice.

"No, just had another interview with him," she replied coldly, hoping to ward him off.

"I saw, that's why I came by. I thought maybe I would re-introduce myself; I only meet you on your first day."

"I see," Shirley responded slowly. Really what was the point of dropping by? If anything, he should be keeping a close eye on Harley. Ever since seeing her and her office that day, Shirley had steered clear. Dr. Westler had also sent them a message on the computers saying it wasn't required for them to 'meet' up anymore. She rolled her eyes, not that Harley actually made it to any of the supposed meetings. No one seemed to be that bothered with her absences. Cash appeared to have paused, recognizing Shirley obvious daze.

"Well I won't keep you distracted any longer doctor," he said stiffly.

"Oh, sure." She nodded, standing tall.

"Just don't let Shark fool you," he warned darkly. She went to respond with a 'pardon', slightly shocked at the use of the nickname but he'd walked off. Shirley sighed and went to her computer to summarize White's interview.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I want to thank everyone who has kept up with this story so far, especially my reviewers. It's probably not that thrilling right now but I assure you, it will be (I hope it has **_**some **_**hold on you right now). Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

**P.S. Sorry for the length**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

"Mr. White, this has become quite an arduous session, perhaps you should return to your cell," Shirley noted, pushing some stray curls back. When she'd been summarizing her last interview with one of her other patients, earlier in the day, her hair-tie had snapped. For the rest of the day her curls had been getting in the way. When she'd mentioned that she had wanted to cut her hair to her parents, her father asked her if she'd leave it. So here it was.

"I think not, you just happen to not be asking the right questions," White smugly replied. He pushed himself out of his chair and approached Shirley. She rolled her eyes and dropped her pen in her lap. For the last fifty or so minutes, this was how he had talked to her. Just dodged and weaved nearly every bloody question! He'd just been sitting there, looking, gazing at her. To say it was annoying was putting it lightly. Sometimes she wondered if maybe she should just apply to get him assigned to another doctor. Then she would see his face in her head, laughing. "Besides Shirley, they are boring."

"Dr. _Gibbs_ and whether or not they are boring, doesn't matter," she said darkly, nearly growling out her name.

"Well I can assume that you don't want to hear my secret after all," he said. Another thing was that was getting mildly frustrating was the childlike attitude he'd had this interview. Looking at her watch she saw that regardless, the interview was ending in a few minutes. She put down her note pad and pen and also stood up. White smirked at this and walked closer to her, around the table.

"Here's a little secret," he started slowly, "you have the lushest and _sexiest_ blonde curls I've ever seen." Well. That was one way to end an interview. Or just leave Shirley in a state of speechlessness or mental blankness. White was about to follow up on his compliment when Dickens burst in the room, looking quite flushed and angry. He grabbed White roughly and cuffed him, leaving without a word. She just stood, in a state of disbelief. What the hell had just happened?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She kept telling herself that White's compliment didn't affect her on a personal level, but she was lying. It did, immensely. Within the last few weeks of dating Lewis, he hadn't come near saying anything like that. Only the other night had he managed to kiss her on the lips when he had dropped her home. She reminded herself that she was driving next time, there was no way she was sitting in his freezing car again, at least not soon. White, though, had been so bold. He just came out and said it. And his mood and tone, gone was the childlike attitude. She was almost wishing to have it back.

To make matters worse, she had had another few interviews after his and hadn't focused probably in any of them. One of the guards that brought in her patients had noticed to and asked if she was alright. She had coldly replied, leaving the guard asking himself why he had even bothered to ask. There was a reputation that she was beginning to gain around Arkham, and she liked it. Truthfully, it had taken longer then she had expected. At university it had taken about two weeks and then people left her alone. Now at Arkham the staff only talked to her if they had to. The only people that really talked to her were Dr. Westler and Dickens. Nothing seemed to faze the man.

She also didn't know if it was the compliment or the fact that White had actually said it that got to her the most. Remembering the interview, she reached up and touched a stray curl, then dropped it. This was ridiculous. She was a psychologist at Arkham Asylum. These inmates were here for a reason. Pushing the interview out of her mind she started typing furiously on the computer, summarizing the interviews of the day and so forth. When it was ten past five in the afternoon she realized that she might as well stay behind for another hour and finish everything else off; she wouldn't have to worry about the extra work for a few days then. Stretching back in her chair she felt the itch to go for a walk. The sun was setting but there was still some light outside. Grabbing her mobile phone and white coat, she left her office with a turn of her keys.

She trailed out to the east part Arkham, near the Arkham Mansion. She took a seat in the little courtyard next to the mansion and took a deep breath of air. There was one advantage to working at Arkham and it was the air outside. It was significantly more breathable then the air in the city. Then she felt something on her shoulder and jumped, sliding down the wooden seat considerably. Looking up she, she wanted to seriously hurt something.

"Wow, Shirley, you okay?" Dickens asked concerned. He was about to place a gloved hand on her shoulder put she slid further down the chair.

"Yeah, fine."

"Do you mind if I take a seat next to you?" He asked but had already sat down, next to her.

"Aren't you meant to be working?"

"Break time," he replied, smiling. He played with his fingers and looked down at them.

"Dickens-"

"Greg."

"Why are you always on a break when I am?" She couldn't help it. He was always, to her knowledge, on break when she was.

"Guess we have a lucky roster then?"

"It's quite confusing, though." She paused, thinking very carefully about how to say it, "Isn't your roster meant to rotate every three weeks?"

"No, that's only for the category nine guards," he reassured, sliding closer to her, "besides, isn't it nice? Friends being able to talk on breaks?" Friends? Greg really did need a life outside of work.

"Greg, I work with you. I'm not your friend," she snapped and got up. This was uncomfortable to say the least. He got up with her and followed her as she began to walk away. Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her by her right upper arm and slammed her on to one of the wooden seats with an unexpected strength.

"Just listen, okay?" He smiled sweetly, contradicting his last action. Shirley fidgeted in her spot, not sure how to respond. Greg had never seemed like a strong guy, she had often secretly questioned how he managed to be a guard here. Now though, she was having second thoughts. "Shirley, you okay?"

"Fine."

"You know, it's great that you are getting out and about."

"Wh-at?" She looked up at him, slowly. She didn't want to understand what he had just said.

"I was meaning to ask you, how's Lewis?"

"How do you know about him?"

"We were talking, ta-lking about him the other day – weren't we?" He stumbled, his shoulders slumping forward. Right now he was blocking her, closing her on to the wooden seat. Her eyes frantically searched behind him, trying to catch someone's attention. The nearest guard was over at one of the large gates, talking to another guard.

"No," she said softly, backing away. It was obvious to her that he was struggling to keep up the sweet façade; underneath it he looked scared and desperate. She wanted to make a run, back to her office, or maybe to her car. Stuff the extra work, she had her phone and keys, he was scaring her. He rubbed his face then moved his eyes back to her.

"You know, you know what?" He started, bending down closer to her. She didn't know what he wanted to do or was planning to do but he was stupid if he was going to pull anything here, there were guards everywhere.

"What?"

"There's someone better for you," he answered, smiling again.

"Yeah, who?" She spat back. It didn't seem to throw him off though, so she tried to coldly glare him down.

"Can't say," he responded softly as if realizing a mistake in his actions. He drew back and paused, appearing to be in deep thought with his head down. There was no better opportunity then now; she made a dash for it. Avoiding him, she ran past him as fast as she could. Not being the fittest person, her lungs began to burn as she made her way past the large gates and into the car park. She thanked some divine force for the adrenaline. Not once did she look back, only when she buckled herself in to her car did she quickly glance in her rear view mirror. Something though, that she did not realize, was that Greg—Dickens—had stopped chasing her long before she got to the car park.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Something seemed off, aside the fact she was in Arkham. Everyone seemed quiet today, just going about his or her work and sticking to it. Really, Shirley didn't mind, well, she kind of did. People just didn't act like this unless something has happened. Even some of her patients had been quiet, well just not as loud as they normally were. It was uncomfortable. She was the one who was cold and quiet, but that was the norm. This wasn't. With the looks she was getting to, she had a suspecting feeling that it might be linked to _her_. Nothing though, could have prepared her for when Dr. Westler came by.

"Dr. Gibbs?" Shirley heard the familiar, monotone accented voice. Turning from her computer, she saw Dr. Westler in the doorframe. "May I come in?"

"Sure," she responded, turning her chair to face her. She liked Dr. Westler, not as a friend but not less. Westler was perhaps the best acquaintance one could have at work. You could talk to her on professional level and not worry that they would ask prying personal questions. The doctor motioned for Shirley to join her at the small setting area, where she interviewed her patients. It was slightly ironic that the woman was sitting in the seat that she always sat in when interviewing. It now felt like she was the one that was going to be questioned.

"Dr. Gibbs, can I ask where you were last night?" Odd, not the kind of question she was expecting.

"Ah, at my apartment. Why?" With all the strange behaviours people were displaying today, she just couldn't help herself. Westler sighed and rested her head in her hand, her arm resting on the arm of the chair.

"And, when was the last time you saw Gregory Dickens?" Westler asked, raising her head back up. The blood in her face dropped and she began to feel nervous. Really she hadn't done anything wrong but she couldn't help but feel that maybe she had.

"Outside Arkham Mansion, around five thirty in the afternoon."

"Are you sure? You did not see him at all after that time?" Westler now appeared anxious, still though in her detached manner. This whole conversation was leading up to something, something important. Something that Westler was holding back from her.

"Certain."

"Then Dr. Gibbs, there is no easy way to say the following."

"What?"

"Dr. Gibbs, Gregory Dickens was found dead in his apartment."

What?

Shirley didn't feel any attachment to the man, but she didn't hate him. The knowledge that someone she had been talking to just yesterday was now dead disturbed her. It was a selfish thought but she couldn't help it. She could barely process anything in her head so all she could manage was:

"What?"

"I can assume that it may be of some shock to you Dr. Gibbs," Westler replied flatly, fixing her glasses. Shirley wanted to think that really this shouldn't affect her, because, it just shouldn't. That was what she wanted, what she would really like to be going through her head. It wasn't the case though. In fact she was sitting there trying to just form sentences and _that_ was difficult enough. Giving herself a mental slap and straightening her back she replied as calmly as she could:

"That is unfortunate to hear, I," she paused, noticing Westler quirking an eyebrow. It had never been her forte to be sympathetic to others in a situation like this. She continued, "I wish his family well in such a time."

"I must elucidate something Dr. Gibbs, that I did not say before," her tone began to reveal a horrible idea that was now rapidly growing in Shirley's mind, like one of Poison Ivy's wretched plants. In her lap, her hands that were now clasped together began to squeeze each other tightly. She was attempting to alleviate some of the nervousness and tension she was feeling; she had no such luck. Westler took in Shirley's poor attempt to hide her uneasiness and silence, as a response to continue. "Dr. Gibbs, Mr. Dickens did not die of natural causes."

"Was he shot? He lives in the Narrows doesn't he?" She recalled him mentioning it sometime, not too happily.

"Please Dr. Gibbs, let me finish," Westler raised her hand, which elicited the response she wanted. Shirley had stopped herself from asking any further questions. Her fingers were beginning to go white. Why the hell was she so bloody nervous? She felt like she knew what Westler was about to tell her, it was sitting right on top of her brain. The thought however did not reveal exactly what had happened. Was she some kind of psychic? She hoped not, that would forever blemish her career.

"Mr. Dickens was found early this morning and by want police can gather, murdered."

Working in the place that Shirley did, should have, even slightly, desensitized her a bit to an event like this. If anything, it made her feel even more uncomfortable. Suddenly she just wanted to be alone in her bedroom with her blankets and quilt cocooning her. Just by herself. The walls of her office felt damp, the whole room did. The thought that been lying over brain now oozed in to every brain cell, making her sole focus on Dickens. He had been talking to her yesterday! Yesterday! Now he was a corpse, no doubt lying on a cold metal table, being examined. They were probably excessively looking for all the bullets. Like a slap, Westler brought her back to reality.

"Dr. Gibbs there is a request that the police have made of you," Westler continued, still sitting there. She was annoyed with herself. Never in her life had something bothered her this much. This situation though was probably the most traumatic thing that had happened to her. Well it was happening to her, it just felt like that. Dickens had been someone she had seen on regular basis, aside from the fact that she disliked him and he was dead. Dead.

"What have they requested?" She replied, sounding a lot firmer and 'in-control' then she felt.

"Though they had myself come in at about at 3:30 A.M., they need someone else to ID him."

"ID him? Wouldn't his family do that? And besides if he was shot, I am sure it wouldn't be that hard to identify him," Shirley said more frantically. Just when her hands had loosened up a bit, they were now again tightly squeezing each other.

"Mr. Dickens has no family, not according to any of his records. And Dr. Gibbs, I never said he was shot. Even if he was, there would be a chance he would still need to be identified," Westler continued looking at Shirley. Why couldn't someone else go to the police station? Dickens surely must have talked to other people here at Arkham.

"Well isn't there someone else at Arkham that he would have conversed with? On a more frequent basis then I?"

"I had assumed that as well, but it is not the case. You were also one of the last people to converse with him and see him," Westler elaborated. She got the feeling that it wasn't really a request, more like a command. Then something hit her, if he hadn't been shot, what had happened?

"Dr. Westler, why is it so urgent for me to identify him?"

"Aside from the fact that the police would need more than one person to identify him there is another reason." It was not in Dr. Westler's character to dance around something, like she was. It was getting frustrating; Shirley just wanted her to say it. Then again, she didn't. Once it was said, she knew she wouldn't be able to forget it.

"Dr. Gibbs, Mr. Dickens was tortured before he died. Whilst the forensic examiners are not sure what exactly was done to him, they know that in the process of being tortured he was mutilated. They assume from the extensiveness of the mutilation and wounds that he died from blood loss, though they are still uncertain," Westler said slowly, as if talking about the upcoming weather for the day. Fuck, she didn't want to see this. It was one thing to read about it in a book, even see a corpse in real life but even then the person had died from natural causes. When at university, there had been the odd time when her class had joined some of the medical students to visit hospitals. It had been a good experience, at the time Shirley had still been debating what kind of psychology she wanted to pursue further.

Once they had visited some of the patients around the hospitals, they went to the morgues. There she saw what morgues held: corpses. It was a little unsettling at first; one person had died in a car accident and that was a little messy. The point was though, all these people had died from what they had been told was an accident, natural causes or an illness and in some cases, bullet wounds. None though, had been murdered in such a malicious way as Dickens. Perhaps they didn't want to show some of the other corpses. Gotham's infamous villains were always running around causing havoc, no matter how hard Batman tried to stop them. Maybe, maybe they hadn't shown them the _others_ in fear that the students would drop the course or move to another city? There was always a shortage of doctors in Gotham.

Now though, the headlines were all too real. Trying her best to compose herself, Shirley replied:

"And when would the police department require me?"

"As soon as possible."

"But I have an interview soon, what-" Shirley began, she didn't want to miss her interview.

"Dr. Gibbs do you really think that in the circumstances an interview is important?" Dr. Westler rose from the chair and waved for Shirley to follow her out the door. She followed. After going to the morgue, she would be asked a few questions. Shirley only hoped it wouldn't take too long. And as for the interview all Westler had to say was:

"Remember Dr. Gibbs, Mr. White is a patient."

Momentarily, Shirley forgot about Dickens because she was enveloped by pure rage. How could she say that? To her! Why was no one noticing Harley? Harley was obsessed with Joker and was not meeting the requirements expected of her. It was just so infuriating how that woman could get away with what she had been doing! She was no idiot to what Harley had done. Aside from the fact that she had not even analysed the Joker in a correct manner, she had been sleeping with him! Shirley sometimes felt like breaking in to her office and getting the notes or lack of notes and taking them straight to Warden Sharp. She wouldn't feel guilty; in fact she would feel justified! It wasn't for the attention she would get if she did it, no, it was just the knowledge that Harley would get what she deserved. He was the Joker! Shirley imagined that maybe if the patient hadn't been so manically insane and perilous, then maybe she could let it go. It was the magnitude of the patient and the extent in which Harley had gone with him, not to mention all the liberties she had taken.

But she wasn't like that with White; he was her patient. He was her patient, she was meant to make him 'better'. The ideology that these kinds of patients could get 'better' was laughable. At best, if they could just be controlled a bit and contained, then that was good enough for her. In addition, that wasn't why she had become a criminal psychologist. White wasn't anywhere near, from what she could gather, as manic or insane as the Joker. And whatever this was about him being 'the worst person' the Joker has ever met must have been something that Harley made up.

Westler had let her off for the day and told her not to come back until tomorrow. Shirley had tried to propose her coming back and catching up on the interview that she would miss. Westler's response was a roll of her eyes and telling her to enjoy her afternoon off. Which was highly contradicted by the fact that she was going to a morgue. She doubled checked her car, making sure it was locked, before going in to the police department. Stepping inside the doors, she realized that she had left her white coat on with her nametag. Snapping it off, she pushed it in to a pocket and approached the main desk. A woman was looking at her computer, quite entranced by the glow of the monitor that she jumped when she saw Shirley.

"Oh sorry honey! Just reading the news," the woman apologised. The woman was probably in her early forties, but she dressed at least ten years younger. She had the uniform but her hair had been highlighted quite brightly in contrast to her natural brown hair and there were many blonde streaks. She had applied heavy amounts of foundation, but had at least gone light on the eyeliner and mascara. "You know that young blonde woman over in Hollywood? Well she's going to jail! What's her name?" The concept of 'news' to her must differ from Shirley's.

"I'm here to see-"

"Oh you a doctor? My sister's in hospital right now! Broke her hip somehow. I told her to be careful around the house," the woman was talking with great speed again, waving her manicured hands around. She found it humorous that a police officer would go to such great lengths for manicures but gathered that this police officer didn't do much 'on-site work'. "Now what's your name? I've got a list here of doctors coming in." The officer typed and clicked the mouse a few times and Shirley waited anxiously. "I forgot to ask your name honey, what is it?"

"Shirley Gibbs."

"Hmm, that's funny, your name isn't here. Just let me check something…else," the woman's hyper tone had dropped and her hands rested above the keyboard. She drew her eyes away from the screen and looked at Shirley with wide eyes.

"Yes?"

"Oh sorry, let me just call, call someone," she replied, shaken. Her hands were shaking slightly and she reached for a chunky phone next to the monitor. With a few words and a distressed expression the phone was placed quite carefully back on the receiver. "He'll be here in a few minutes."

For a moment it sounded like she had called up the Commissioner, which only added to her nerves. But when a man a few years younger than the female office strode up to her she breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't look anything like the Commissioner. He had dark brown, nearly black hair, specked with some grey that had been combined with grease neatly. He looked like a man lost in the future. It was like he was from the thirties and he was ruggedly handsome. Not to mention extremely tall. Taller than Lewis and White.

"Miss Gibbs, I'm Detective Jenkins," he introduced himself with a sonorous voice. He outstretched his hand and Shirley slowly took it. Giving it a firm shake and a nod of her head, he started walking down a hallway. The room where she had been was busy and many young men were in cuffs, a few scary looking women too. Following Detective Jenkins they made their way down to a lift. In the lift he turned to her and began to talk to her again:

"Dr. Westler must have told you about Mr. Dickens's state." It was a warning, she knew. She was prepared though, as prepared as she could be.

"Yes."

"Thank you for coming in," he said, not knowing what else to say. Shirley was thankful for the silence that followed but when the lift's doors opened, she wasn't so sure. It was really cold down here, but that was to be expected. The fluorescent lights burned her eyes as she followed the tall detective. They came to a set of white doors, which had a few scratches here and there on them. He paused, waiting for her to say something. Normally people would say something in despair, curse at him or say nothing, like she was. This wasn't normal though. This was like what Commissioner Gordon had told him about, along with other new officers, when they had joined the department. They had all joked about it but now, twelve years later, the reality of his job had set in. Losing your buddies was one thing, but losing them to crazies in the most horrific way, beyond his imagination, was like nothing they could have prepared him for. Seeing this young woman he almost felt envious. Envious that at this moment in time, she was naive. Sure she had studied the minds of those fuckers but seeing it in flesh was something different all together. Something that he was not envious about was that he didn't know what that _body_ had once been.

She went up to the doors and touched the cold, metal handles. With a push she opened them and walked in, Detective Jenkins behind her. At first she felt kind of cheated, in a weird kind of way. She had expected the body to be there; she had been ready. But there was still the waiting game. She stepped closer until she was standing above what was once Dickens. There was a white cloth over him, which had been stained with a few dots of blood. The forensic examiner across from her waited for her approval; she nodded. As the sheet was slowly lifted from the body she knew that there was nothing in the world that could have prepared her. Jenkins grabbed her shoulders as she turned away for a moment. This was one of those moments, which were to forever be burnt in to one's mind. The ones where no matter how many years had passed, the image was still as clear as day.

What yesterday had been Dickens, a man, was now a body of ripped flesh. It was like an animal had gotten to him. His chest was ripped open in many long slashes. His arms had thin but deep cuts running up and down them, as did his legs. Looking at his chest you could see fragments of his ribcage, underneath pieces of flesh and soft tissue. Further down some of his lower organs were ripped and gapping under soft tissue and flesh. Jenkins grip tightened on her shoulders and she was thankful for the contact. It was the only thing keeping her level. She'd seen this documentary once. It was about people that had survived animal attacks. There was this one man, a young man, not that dissimilar from Dickens. He was a surfer. One morning he was with some friends, at the beach. His friends were taking too long to get ready so the man had raced ahead. Not twenty minutes later, a shark had attacked him. His back and left leg had been in shreds. This is what she was reminded of when looking at Dickens. His chest muscles and skin were in flops, chunks. She didn't dare look at his face.

"Miss Gibbs?" She heard Jenkins say.

"Y-es," she tried her best to sound composed but her response came out muffled.

"I need you to look at - his face," Jenkins replied. He looked down, but kept his grip on the short woman. She didn't want to. If she did, it would make this _body_ someone that she had known. Right now it was a horrific sight but it wasn't a person, it was a corpse. Slowly she looked up and she could feel her stomach clenching. Unlike his body, his face had been left considerably untouched. There were bruises and cuts that scattered his face. His expression was one of pure pain and terror. Thankfully, his eyes had been shut. But she could tell. She tripped backwards in to Jenkins. He held her tightly but she pushed him away and turned away from the body. Hands over her mouth she breathed loudly. Jenkins came over to her with a bucket.

"Do you?" He asked, trying to comfort her. She just shook her head frantically and tried to calm down. How had Westler looked at it? Stumbling over to a metal counter she steadied herself and she could hear the forensic examiner place the sheet back over _it_. She shut her eyes and she could see it again. It was all she saw. Her hands flew from her face as she swore she could feel blood on her hands. Hell, who was she kidding? Her cold demeanour was nothing here. She felt Jenkins's large warm hand on her back and she looked up. From the look on his face, he was silently asking her if it was 'him'.

"Yes, yes, it's h-im," she answered the silent question. He lightly grabbed her elbow and took her out of the room. Next thing she knew, they were in a tiled room with a table and three chairs. She looked to her side and saw a mirror, a double-sided mirror. A few questions, yeah. This was going to be an interview. Jenkins pulled out a seat and she sat down. She pushed herself up to the table and rested her arms there. He sat down opposite her, leaned his head in his hand for a moment then looked up.

"Run through yesterday Miss Gibbs," he asked with a low tone. And that's how the next, near two hours continued. After about twenty minutes another officer came in, roasting her with questions. She didn't cry but it was hard not to. The good cop, bad cop thing was stressing her out and she was exceedingly tired. She wanted to be alone but she also wanted someone to hold her. There was no way she could tell her mother about this and she didn't even consider her father. When the two had finished with her, Jenkins told her to please not tell the media. She just looked at him in horror. He accepted her response and took her to her car.

"Are you sure you can drive?"

"Sure."

"I can take you to your apartment," he didn't feel right about leaving her. He guessed that she was a cold and 'keeps to herself' kind of woman, but she wouldn't be human if she hadn't reacted to what she had just seen. Dr. Westler had come in before to see other bodies and as such she hadn't really reacted to this case.

"Detective, I really don't want to be seen coming out of a police car," she responded, her gaze averted. They stood there and he nodded then gave her a pat on the back.

"Here's my card, call me if you-" he held the card in his hand but didn't know how to continue.

"Thanks," she said and took the card from his hand. He watched her drive away and gave himself a mental shake. He had a case to solve.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Not two minutes had passed when she got in the door when her mobile started to ring. Frantically she answered it and answered.

"He-llo."

"Shirley, wait Shirley?" It was Lewis. Why was she so relieved to hear his voice? She grasped the phone tightly and leaned against the wall. Her bag was on the floor, open and discarded. She was panting heavily, like she had run a race.

"Yes," she mumbled in-between pants trying her best to sound like her normal self.

"Shit, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," her voice hiccupped and she knew that she wasn't long off for the tears. She could count on her fingers the times she had cried in her life, after the age of seven. It wasn't many.

"No you aren't, do you need me?" Did she need him? Yes. She did. She didn't want to be alone. Her back began to slide down the wall and her mouth opened in a silent cry. The floor felt cold and instantly associated it with the morgue. Then she was crying, the tears falling down her cheeks. She didn't hear Lewis say that he would be over in there in a few minutes. The phone fell from her hand as she wept.

When Lewis came in to the hallway, where her apartment was, he was unnerved to see her door open. He ran up to door and raced in. There on the floor was Shirley, a shaking mess. Her blonde curls were everywhere, some hair stuck to her face. He closed the door and bent down to her. He was freaking, he didn't know what had happened or what to do. He hadn't ever expected to see her this upset. He touched her shoulder and she jerked, now crying louder. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. She fought him at first, punching his chest. He persevered though and eventually she fell in to him. He didn't think the floor was the most comfortable place so he lifted her in to his arms. She wasn't the lightest but he would be a little worried if she was, with her curvier figure and all. Finding her bedroom he dropped her on her bed and she grabbed a pillow. Debating whether to join her and hold her, thinking about what would happen once she was calm, he threw it out the window – he needed her whether she said it or not.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Shirley woke up, she was confused. Opening her eyes she realized two things; one she was on her bed and two, someone had their arms quite firmly around her. Stretching her legs, she turned slightly and saw Lewis. She jumped and he woke with a start.

"What the hell are you doing in my bed?" She said loudly, grasping the sheets.

"What?"

"I said, what are you doing here?" She asked again, still confused at how she was home.

"I came over here, last night. You called," he replied, just staring at her. Then it hit her, like a ton of bricks. Her mouth opened and she held herself. Lewis jumped out from his side of the bed and came over to her, holding her again. Dickens. Dead. Mutilated. Lewis was holding her firmly and rubbing her back.

"What day is it?" She asked, still looking down at the floor.

'"Wednesday, why?"

"Wait what time is it?" Her head shot up.

"Eight in the morning, why?" He asked again, pulling back from her.

"I've got work."

"Are you kidding? You aren't in any state to go to work," he said harshly, getting up. She ignored him and grabbed some clothes from her closet and walked to the bathroom. Lewis was following her but she slammed the door in his face. She showered quickly and practically jumped in to her clothes. Once she was dressed she opened the door and Lewis started his onslaught of 'you aren't serious's again. Slipping on some flats she dashed wearing stockings, she didn't have time. Her bag was at the front door and she picked it up. Giving herself the one last once over she was about to leave but she felt a firm grip on her arm.

"Can you wait a moment?"

"What?" She turned to him, hands on hips and her curly hair dripping on to her white top.

"You know what happened last night? I was at a mate's house, about thirty minutes away from here. He's got his girlfriend with him and I was thinking, man I wish Shirley was here," he began to explain. She hoped he wasn't going in that direction.

"Why would you wish that?" She asked, now annoyed because of how late she was going to be. Right now she needed a distraction and what better then to help people with _their_ problems. Her job had never sounded so good.

"Cause – you are special and I would like to-" he started again but Shirley cut him off.

"Don't say it, please."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not ready," she said softly and left him standing there. Driving to work, thankfully, did not take as long as she had anticipated. She must have missed rush hour. Arriving at work she saw on her watch that she only had ten minutes until, until White's interview. She dashed to her office, many people getting angry as she pushed them out of the way. Finally she got to her office and opened the door. She fell in to her chair and pressed a key on her keyboard. It was on her e-mail, Arkham Asylum e-mail. There was a new message from Dr. Westler; she opened it. It read:

_Dr. Gibbs,_

_I expect you to be late to work, even though you don't have to be here. I have pushed Mr. White's interview forward one hour._

_Dr. Westler_

She rested her head on her desk and breathed a sigh of relief. She had missed his interview yesterday but at least she had made it today and had time to prepare. She wasn't worried about leaving Lewis in her apartment; she knew he wouldn't rob her. But she had had to get out of there. She liked Lewis. Despite what she thought and behaved, she liked him. He made her smile, even if it was internally most of the time and made her feel 'special'. But she didn't want a label. No boyfriend/girlfriend thing or 'partners'. That wasn't something she wasn't ready for. She just hoped he understood that.

When White's interview had arrived, she had fixed her hair and now looked presentable, despite her lack of stockings. She felt exposed without them, but her appearance was now the best it could be with what she had. Hearing a knock at the door, it brought back unpleasant memories of Dickens. Pushing it aside she opened the door and saw a tall, slender but well built man standing there, with White. She must have looked confused because the man motioned for them all to enter but Shirley stood in the doorway.

"I see you are not familiar with the new arrangements," he had what women would call a velvety voice, with an Italian accent. He had dark eyes with a set of thick but attractive eyebrows and neat brown hair. Where his sleeves had been pushed up on his arms she could see many tattoos. So this was the new guard. He paused and for a moment looked over at White, waiting for something. Shirley looked away from them and sighed. She hadn't thought about a new guard.

"You are the new guard?" She asked, she already knew that but she just wanted his name.

"Rocco Gallo," he replied, not offering her a hand. Good, she thought. She didn't want Dickens happening again. Dickens. Quickly she moved out of the way and sat down in her chair. White followed suit and joined her in his chair. Rocco nodded at White, which she found odd. Rocco closed the door and now there was silence. Had it affected him? Did he care? Did he even notice? She was at a loss at how to start the interview. So the trouble was taken away.

"It is good to see you Shirley, I missed you yesterday," he spoke in the familiar tone. A sense of familiarity swept over her and she sunk in to her seat. It was like being with Lewis again, the comfort and sense of security. His voice shouldn't do that to her but it had.

"Dr. Gibbs."

Her mechanical answer amused White. She noticed this as well and started the interview. For the most part, it was boring but it was distracting. It was about forty minutes in to the interview when White said something that put her on edge.

"How is Dickens?"

She dropped her notepad and papers went flying on the floor. Scattering to the floor she was picking things up. For that moment White took notice of her bent over figure on the ground before helping her. He handed her a stack of papers and she thanked him quietly. Whether he knew or not, his question scared her. She didn't think he knew. He couldn't.

"Do you know?" She stupidly replied, but what was said was said.

"Do I know what?" He replied, leaning forward in his chair.

"About – Dickens?" It was stupid for her act like this. She was the one in the position of power and control.

"All I know is that he has left Arkham."

"Well, alright then," she turned away and looked at the floor. Then she saw it, his body on the floor. The walls were white and the light above her was fluorescent. The floor was smooth cement and his blood was everywhere. Looking down at her feet she saw that her feet were in a puddle of blood. His blood! She shuddered. She gasped as her eyes meet the body again and she cried out softly. She forgot where she was and whom she was with. Then she felt something. Arms. Around her shoulders. They were comforting and for a moment she sat there, with them around her. Looking down she saw pale, white arms. White.

She jumped from her seat and White stepped back. The room was her office again. Now the gravity of what had just happened set in. She looked over at him to see him standing behind her chair, arms at his sides. He began to walk over to her again but she flinched backwards. He reached for her and she fell backwards on to the floor. He looked down at her and smiled, in a concerned way. He offered her his hand, with few fingers on it. She looked at him, then his hand. Pushing it away she got up. They looked at each other for a moment, and then she opened the door. There were no words as White was lead away.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: In Australia, we call 'sweaters' jumpers. For the most part I use English grammar and spelling, but for jumpers I'll call them 'sweaters'. I can't thank my readers enough. If you haven't left me a review and are a reader, I'd love to hear from you. And thanks to everyone being so patient! Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

It had been a week since Dickens's death and now Shirley was on another date with Lewis. The week had been long but she had managed to get her sorry ass to work every day. Just last night she had managed to start the book that Lewis had given her about a week or so ago. Before long she had found herself engrossed in _Blood_ _Works_ and lost in the words. It was a nice change for the week and she welcomed it.

"You know, that top really brings out your eyes," Lewis complimented her, staring at her eyes.

"And did you also know that we are sitting in a diner, with jeans and sweaters on?" She sarcastically replied, playing with her straw. They were in a diner and were wearing jeans and sweaters, as she had said. This was because just after Shirley had gotten home from work, Lewis had called her, wanting to go out.

"Did you know that this is our seventh date? Official date," He commented, ignoring her last comment. Sweaters or jeans, she still looked pretty.

"I had honestly lost count," she replied. Secretly, she found it sweet that he remembered. She hadn't been lying when said she had lost count and now felt a little guilty. They continued to talk for another ten minutes then their meal arrived. The waiter made a comment about Shirley's hair; something about reminding him of golden threads spun in to curls. To this Lewis agreed with a wide smile and she just sunk in to her chair. Shirley had ordered some B.B.Q. chicken with chips and mashed potato. No sauces. Lewis had ordered a burger and a silly amount of chips. With cheese sauce.

"You do not like that stuff," she commented, her fork hovering above her meal.

"What, burgers?" He asked, some food falling from his mouth.

"No, that _sauce_," she seethed, glaring at his chips. He swallowed and replied:

"I love this sauce."

"Oh please, mercy," she looked up at the ceiling and raised her hands. They both laughed and she smiled, dazzling Lewis.

"Did I just see a smile from Shirley Gibbs?" He smiled, staring at her smile. The corners of her mouth dropped to a smirk.

"Oh shut up," she returned fiercely, taking a bite from her meal. He watched her as she continued to eat, downplaying the 'smile'. Seeing her laugh and smile, with her curls flying all over the place made his heart speed up.

"You should, more often," he noted seriously. The fork again hovered above her plate and she met his gaze.

"What?"

"Smile." After that comment, they changed topics, continuing to eat and talk. Unlike White, Lewis seemed a lot more awkward. She meant that in the most endearing way. She realized the association she had made and snapped back to Lewis. There was a big drop of cheese sauce on his chin and he hadn't seemed to notice. Sooner than she knew it, she was wiping away the cheese with her napkin. He had paused in his chewing and was looking at her intently. With a small little smile she was back in her chair. Changing the mood, she asked him a question that she had been meaning to.

"Oh, I meant to say thanks for the book."

"What book?" He said, looking up at her confused.

"The one you left on my desk at work, which I might add was sweet but was slightly creepy," she clarified, but it didn't seem to 'click' for Lewis. His expression was still confused.

"I didn't leave any book on your desk," he said slowly, his face still drawn in an expression of confusion.

"_Blood Works_, we were talking about it on our first date," she elaborated further.

"Nope, must have been a friend?" He asked but didn't wait for an answer as he continued to eat. She didn't add that she really didn't have any friends. They finished their meals and were now talking again however it bothered her about the book. The book in question hadn't been discussed with anyone but Lewis. Maybe he was playing a trick on her? She doubted it; it didn't seem like something he would do. Just when he had really gotten engrossed in to their conversation, a mobile started to ring. They both checked their phones; it was Lewis's. He frowned but answered his phone.

"Lisa?" She smiled, he didn't notice. He always answered the phone like that, saying the person's name. It had been annoying at first but now she found it cute. Watching him further she saw that his expression hadn't changed, in fact it had deepened. His frown was now deep and he was nodding his head with 'yes's and 'mhmm's. When he got up, slipping on his navy jacket over his sweater Shirley frowned.

"I'll be there soon," he said flatly but with purpose. With a press of a button, he slipped his phone back in to his pocket and looked over at her. She got up, but left her jacket on the chair. "Oh Shirley."

"What's wrong?"

"I hate to do this but something has happened to my mum," he said as he got out his wallet. She placed a hand on his and looked at him.

"Is she okay?"

"No, she fell. She doesn't know how but all she remembers is being on the floor and her whole left leg aching, from the hip down," he said quickly. He groaned and ran a hand through his brown locks. In an unexpected move, he draped his arms around her waist. It was weird but she focused on the situation.

"Um, well, what-"

"I have to go now. I'll pay," he reached for his wallet again but she stopped him.

"I'll pay, don't worry," she said but remained in his arms. He loved that she was finally warming up to him. It was worth the weeks of dates, outings and her cold replies. She was worth it.

"Thanks babe," he lent down and kissed her forehead. That was new. The only nicknames she had were from her parents and usually 'bitch' in high school. Slowly she placed her arms around his waist and lent in. He relished in this but snapped back to what was happening. He pulled back and both their arms dropped. She was confused but felt suddenly distant at the lack of contact.

"Two more things."

"Yes?" She replied, slanting her head on an angle.

"I want to see you more often, I want there to be an 'us'," he said, grasping her hands in his. Oh not again, she said in her head. Before she could open her mouth he stole her words.

"I know you don't want a title and I understand that, but I want there to be an 'us'." She noticed then how funny it was that the nervous man she had met back at the university night was now confident and proposing a relationship, of sorts. She nodded and he smiled, now grasping her upper arms.

"And?"

"Oh yeah and this," he said before he latched on to her mouth and gave her one hell of a kiss. Her hands went to his hair and she tugged at it. Who knew _Lewis_ had this in him. Then he was smiling goofily at her as he raced out the door, banging in to the glass door. If she could see herself now through her eyes, a few months ago, she could safely say that she would have said, 'where did you get this shit?'

It was only after she paid the bill and was exiting the diner that she realized Lewis had driven that night. _Shit_ didn't begin to describe the situation. She knew her way around Gotham, no problem there. It was just walking around Gotham after dark. She imagined it like vampires and ghouls, but replaced them with thugs and guys with guns. Not to mention insane villains with absurd outfits. Lucky for her, her parents had pitched in when she bought her apartment to prevent her from buying a large apartment in the Narrows. Well it wouldn't be too arduous to walk home, but it would be bloody close. She'd used her cash up when paying the bill and had nothing for a cab. And there was no way she using her credit card. Zipping her jacket up, she began to walk home.

When waiting at some traffic lights she was sure that someone was following her. With a pump, adrenaline was surging through her veins. Cars swept in front of her as she tried to quickly formulate a plan to lose the stalker. Looking around she spotted a liquor store, across the road. It was in the opposite direction she was going in; nevertheless she went with it. Without changing her pace, she crossed the road once the lights had changed; she walked in to the store. The walls were stacked full with shelves of bottles and boxes. Walking around the cases of alcoholic beverages but peeking through the gaps, she saw no one. Then someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"You need somethin'?" A middle-aged man asked gruffly. She looked at him and gave a short no. In response he looked her, wondering what the hell she was doing here but shrugged his shoulders, in the end not caring. Shirley waited around for another ten minutes before leaving, thinking that ten minutes was a sufficient amount of time for her follower to get bored. Exiting the store with the ring of a bell she crossed the road again and continued on her way home. When she got closer to her apartment she heard a patter of feet behind her again. She flashed her head around again quickly, just a couple cuddling up. The couple took the next turn and she was left alone again. Just slightly, she sped up her pace. She could hear a soft patter of feet again. Finally she passed the costume store and recognized that she was nearly home. Opening the door to her apartment block she breathed a sigh of relief. She was in a building now and thank heavens, the patter of feet had gotten quicker. When she reached her apartment she welcomed her bed with open arms.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Today, Shirley had decided to take to take a different approach. White was in the seat opposite her, with his arms in their usually position, hands loosely clasped together and arms draped across his lap. Even with the taller armchair, she managed to feel short. White's notepad, now much thinner, sat in her lap. There wasn't a chance in hell that she was letting _last_ time happening again. Armed with a black pen and detailed interview plan, Shirley, well, continued to sit there. The detailed interview really wasn't that detailed either. This interview actually was more like an experiment. She wanted to see how long it would take until he started to talk. On his own accord.

It wasn't working.

In fact, it seemed to be doing the opposite. She knew he knew what she was trying to do. Shirley tried not to be disappointed but she couldn't help it. White's interviews felt like this mountain she had to climb, but she barely got anywhere. When she thought she had a firm grip to take another step, the side of the mountain would crumble and she would slide back down, to the beginning. There were a few patients she was making progress with, real progress. It was rewarding and satisfying, but it wasn't enough. If she could make a mark on him, leave some kind of long lasting effect, and then it would all be worth it. Thinking of Harley, she suppressed a grin. She had told herself countless times now to ignore her, nevertheless it was futile. A chuckle roused her from her thoughts.

"So tell me, Shirley, how long do you intend to play this – _game_?" He grinned broadly, revealing his filed teeth. Quick! She yelled in her head, think! How could she respond? Sound confident, she told herself.

"A game, Mr. White?"

"Yes Shirley, a game. Not that I don't mind playing games with you but I would much rather it be _verbal_, so to say," he replied, using her name again.

"Well, if you think this is what our sessions are. Oh Mr. White?"

"Ye_s_," he said, hissing the 's' out.

"Dr. Gibbs." It was mildly amusing to see him roll his eyes at her words. Giving up on her experiment, she looked at some brief notes she had made on her plan, just in case this had happened. His responses would vary from something too general or a comment about unrelated topics. Regardless of that though, her hand moved with great speed, writing down notes. With all these notes she was taking, she swore that by now the muscles in her palm and fingers should have been quite developed. Not that she wanted fat hands, but it is frustrating when a sauce jar offered quite a challenge.

"Dr. Gibbs, do you like to read?"

Her head rose, he had been silent for a few minutes. In that moment, she had grasped the opportunity to write down some more notes before she asked him another question. Stunned at the question, she responded before thinking about it.

"Yes, quite often."

The simplicity of the response was enough for White. By her replying with more than the standard 'yes', he was in. She knew that. Where was Rocco? Glancing at clock on the wall, she saw it was about time for White to leave. Relieved, she called out for Rocco, by his last name. No reply. Embarrassed, she rose from her chair and peeked out the door, with her back to White. The hallway was empty and still, there was the slight beep or hum from the air conditioners.

Closing the door and turning back in to the room, she saw that White had moved. He had now positioned himself at her desk. Rushing forward, she went to push him away from her desk. With her hand raised, and White's attention elsewhere, she reached forward to push him. Then she stopped. Inches away from his uniform clad shoulder, she dropped her hand. She couldn't. It was a rule. Rather then it being one of Arkham's, it was more of her own. If she did touch him, even as a push, she'd make these interviews too _close_. That contact was something that could not happen. It was done with all patients, especially White. Besides, it was the guards' jobs to deal with the inmates. She was just meant to interview them and evaluate their mental conditions.

She debated with herself, but when his hand reached for her book, she pushed his shoulder. He moved slightly, but not by much. Book in hand, he turned around. She needed Rocco. Or a guard, any guard. His eyes skimmed over the cover then glanced up at her. Why couldn't she say anything?

"Put it back," she snapped. A cocky grin stretched out across White's face and he stepped back. Her hand jerked.

"What's it about?"

"It's not important, Mr. White please relocate yourself back to the-"

"I found it a difficult but fascinating story to read," he cut in, leaving Shirley with her mouth open. No one in her life, not even Lewis, had left her in a state of blankness, like this man did. The frustration and anger that she felt towards herself was unimaginable in these situations. There he was though, asking questions and leaving her like a fish, mouth open and mind void. His eyes stared down at her before continuing, locking her to the floor.

"Mr. White."

"Shirley, I must say, I think we are past formalities – aren't we?"

"Dr. Gibbs and no."

Reaching for her book again, she ripped it from his poor grip. Even with his height and at times, intimidating persona, he did have his weaknesses. Whilst she wasn't too sure what they all were, she knew that with the lack of fingers, having a strong grip on a book wasn't one of them. Stepping back from him but keeping a trained eye on him she walked backwards to the other corner of the room. Where the hell was the guard? Where was Rocco? He was worse than… She paused in her thoughts, eyes dropping to the floor. It had been a good fortnight and a half, but the memory was still as fresh as the rays of light peeking through her window. It made her stomach tense, her heart race and her focus drop. In this moment, he was on her side of the office again. Her head jerked up, catching him in his tracks, arm raised and reaching for her. Why was he doing this?

Just when she was at a complete loss of what to do, her office door opened and exposed a composed Rocco Gallo. Her body jolted upright and she tried to retain her air of authority. As for White, he remained in the same close position to her. A look passed between the two and Rocco's expression changed to a frantic one.

"Doc, please pardon my delay. I was caught up in the hallway with another guard; he just needed a helping hand with a disagreeable patient."

"Refrain from doing so next time, they can call backup," she said, walking past White and over to her desk. With her back to the two, she fiddled with some papers on her desk.

"As I said, my apologizes."

"It will not happen again," she replied, still facing away from him. She wasn't going to say 'please make sure it doesn't happen again', the wording allows for it to happen again. No, she didn't want to be in that position or situation again. She heard the door shut softly and then she let out a disgruntled sigh. Looking over shoulder she saw her notepad and stupid interview plan. She picked up the plan and traced her eyes over the 'experiment'. She scrunched it up and threw it towards the bin. It missed.

What was happening to her? Not only was her career going in to perilous grounds but her personal life was just as bad. It wasn't that she didn't like Lewis; it was just that things were happening and she had no control over them. Would Rocco say anything? What he had walked into had looked concerning and inappropriate, to say the least. And how had White gotten to that position? How had that control been lost? The questions were like an onslaught on her mind - she needed to get out. And she would have, had her desk phone not started ringing. The phone had only rung the selected few times and mostly it had been the wrong number.

"Hello, this is Dr. Shirley Gibbs, how may I help you?"

"Shirley?" A deep voice responded, with an undertone of excitement present.

"Pardon?"

"It's Detective Jenkins, from the police department." Wonderful.

"Oh."

"Look, are you busy?"

"No."

"Great! Can you come downtown? I really need to see you, it's about the case."

"Well," she trailed. When she had wanted to get out early, the police station wasn't the first place that came to mind. Actually, it was her couch, with a coffee, blanket and novel at hand. Looking at her desk, her eyes landed on _Blood Works_. Like the thing had eyes, she felt it peering at her. How could she stay at home when _that_ had happened to Dickens? Easily but the image held her back from doing so. She sighed and replied flatly, "Sure, I'll be there soon."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

If she had know what was awaiting on her previous visit to the police station she would have definitely had second thoughts. Stepping through the front doors she was met with the expected chaos that one would find in a Gotham police station, especially the head one. Walking over to the familiar policewoman at the front counter, she quirked a manicured finger in the direction behind Shirley, eyes resting on the monitor. Turning around, she saw Detective Jenkins.

"Shirley, thanks for coming down!" He shook her hand and began pulling her down a hallway. For a moment she was afraid that they were going back down _there_ again but at the last minute they took another turn. In a moderately sized room, there was an abundance of wooden desks spread out around the room. Passing a few, of what she assumed were other policemen and detectives, they made their way to the back.

"Detective –" Shirley began, his hand still firmly planted around her right wrist.

"Call me Joe," he said with a lopsided smile.

"I can follow you without your grasp on my wrist," she finished, dimming his smile slightly.

"Oh sorry, I was just so caught up," he replied, dragging a chair up to what she guessed was his desk. With an old computer at one end, it was covered with a mass of papers and folders and a few mugs. "By the way, would you like a coffee?"

"Well, I'm not-"

"Trust me, they are great. I'll get my partner to grab you one," he insisted. Just noticing the tall Asian man, sitting on the opposite side of Jenkins, with a desk in much the same shape, he groaned.

"What I am I, your coffee boy?" He grumbled with a heavy Southern accent.

"If you want to be, now hurry up Dave." Dave rose slowly from his desk, his short black ponytail sticking out quite firmly near the base of his skull, and grabbed a few mugs off the two desks. Jenkins or Joe motioned towards the sturdy chair. She took a seat and looked over at Joe.

"Now really, you aren't meant to be here but I couldn't pass it up," he began explaining, making great use of his hands.

"Then why am I?" Her simple but plausible question stumped Joe for a moment but he soon recovered.

"Well, I think you are related to what happened to Dickens."

"What?" Her response probably came out a lot angrier then she could control on the contrary though, it was quite something to say. Dave returned juggling the three large mugs and handed one to Shirley, himself and lastly Joe, spilling some of its contents. She was hesitant to take a sip, the mug looked, loved.

"I didn't mean it like that, sorry. What I meant was, you seem to be linked to this but not the actual act of the murder."

"Joe you aren't seriously telling her, are you?"

"Shut it Dave! This is big. Anyways Shirley, you seem to be the reason." When she had let him call her by her first name, she didn't remember. The reason? Her?

"Joe seriously, lay off it. She's a fresh doctor at Arkham – don't lay this shit on her," he warned, nuanced with more meaning then his words intended. They glared at each other for moment. Joe appeared quite shocked but stood his ground.

"A moment outside, _David_?" Joe ground, standing up from his office chair. Shirley watched the two quite with examinant eyes. The sudden incursion on Joe left him quite silent but his taunt expression spoke volumes. The interesting one though, was David or 'Dave'. His expression was guarded but angry and unlike Joe, was not distressed. They left the room and Shirley was left alone. For an hour. The light outside was now gone and replaced with Gotham's infamous darkness. The few people in room left her alone, they didn't even acknowledge her. If this had been any other place or situation, she would have left. But this was the police and she'd rather be polite then be impatient. By now the coffee had gone cold and was still full.

Finally, David came back. He stopped for a moment when he saw Shirley, sitting quite quaintly in the same seat from over an hour ago. He rushed over to her, with an apologetic expression.

"I had no idea that you had, um, _stayed_ here," he said awkwardly, running a hand over his head.

"You said you would be gone for a moment."

"Yeah about that, Joe got a call and had to leave right away."

"He said this was important," she pointed out, remaining seated still.

"I hope you aren't too put off by this, I really am sorry."

"Will I have to come in again?"

"Probably not, we are finishing of this case this week." His guarded expression didn't reveal much insight in to what he was thinking, so she couldn't think o anything else to say. She felt annoyed that she had come down here for nothing. The two detectives were pretty much juxtapositional. This case seemed to have left different affects and perspectives on the two. But who was she to say this isn't how it was meant to be? Two different minds probably would be the best for the case, any tricky case like this. Although, she doubted that they could really finish this case of this week. Detective Tsui walked with her car to her car and stopped her at the last minute.

"You won't need to go talking about this, the police have got it under control," he reassured her.

"Your tone tells me else wise," she observed, opening her car door.

"I wouldn't lie about a case Miss. Gibbs, not with what you saw," he referenced. She slammed her door shut and sped off, without another word. She turned the radio on loudly, to block out the mental image that was fogging up her mind. Pop songs blasted out through her speakers but only exacerbated the forlorn mood she was feeling. If it hadn't been for the traffic lights, she would have missed her mobile ringing. Switching off the radio, she answered.

"Hello."

"Shirley! How are you?" Lewis's familiar, cheery voice rung out through the phone. Clicking the speakerphone button she continued to drive.

"Fine."

"I don't think so, something happen today?"

"Ah, work was tiring," she responded. She wasn't going to about the Police station. Dickens's gruesome end hadn't even come up in conversation. It was eating away at her on inside however; she knew if she told Lewis, she'd be letting him in to her world. And that would change things, dramatically. She still wasn't sure if she was ready for a relationship like that.

"You should get off earlier, you are always overworking," he chastised. She was in peek hour traffic, no thanks to Detective Jenkins.

"There's a lot of work."

"Now I thought I should let you know something. You know how my mum's been at home, recovering from the broken hip? Well something else has happened, I mean is happening."

"She fall over again?"

"No, they are selling the house." Wow, that was quite out of blue. Then again, she hadn't met his family. If something like this were going to happen though, she would think that Lewis would bring it up in conversation. The lights went green and she took a turn, escaping Gotham's traffic build up.

"So suddenly?"

"I think it's been in the midst for a while, this incident just kind of _confirmed_ it."

"Well, are you living with them?" She was worried; this conversation was leading somewhere.

"Yeah, but my mate Tom's got a spare room he's going to let me rent," he replied reassuringly.

"Where are your parents going?"

"Outskirts of Washington D.C, they've bought this big house," he replied, sounding excited to elaborate.

Lewis talked to her for a bit more. Honestly, Shirley knew that the idea of his parents moving so far away really bothered him. It would be a big change in his life. For her, it hadn't really ever been a problem. It was just different. She had adapted and now enjoyed the solitude. Lewis though, he was a family person. Apparently it wasn't just his parents moving, but also his pregnant sister Lisa, her husband and his two brothers. Lewis was staying to finish his PhD but that subject seemed pretty grey. All he really discussed about himself was that he was staying, in Gotham.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Want to hear something scary? I was running late for school at about 11:30 AM (a few weeks ago) and had to hand my Biology assessment in. I'd finished it off, pretty badly, but it was done. Got to school and found out times have been moved around for a school event. It was a short day anyway so I'm like, whatever, I am submitting this and going. On the bus going home something dawns on me. I left my USB in a computer, at the library. With F.O.M.B on it. Good friends really are one in a million, saved my ass. Sorry, back to the story! Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

**P.S. As for the bar name, for anyone that has read 'A Killing Joke' – please tell me if it is incorrect.**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

With Lewis's family moving out of Gotham, they hadn't had time to see each other. Not that she was any better; work had been killing her. One of Arkham's best psychiatrists had been attacked by what was thought to have been a low category patient. The doctor hadn't been killed but it had left him with some deep gashes on his arms and many broken bones. Apparently, he had been managing a lot of patients, more then he should have been. For now the Warden was trying to compensate by laying the low level patients on new doctors, like her, until he got some substitutes to come in. She would hope that a doctor wouldn't get this many patients in future but she knew better.

Lewis had been calling her a lot though. It was frustrating when she was at work, usually after her day had finished. He'd even managed to get her to leave, to get a good night's sleep. She knew that he wasn't pressuring her in to a title but it was getting on at least a good two and half months now. It felt like she owed him it, at least. By giving it a name though, it just, it just _cemented_ the relationship. When there was no name, she could kind of 'dance' around the subject. Especially when she was on the phone to her mother.

Currently, she was at bookstore in the heart of the city, in the last rays of the afternoon on a Sunday. The prospect of going to work made her drag her feet through the crime section. Normally the books would jump out at her, inviting her to take a peek and give in and buy them. Nothing was happening, though. These books weren't bringing her any comfort. The only thing she had bought today was some pepper spray. After that last incident, she wanted to have some kind of defence. Of late, she had even resorted to watching cheesy films, just to distract herself. It wasn't working though, nothing was. She didn't feel upset or depressed, she just kind of felt like _nothing_. Maybe it was because she hadn't seen Lewis in a while, but she knew she wasn't that dependent on anyone.

The strange thing was, though, aside from talking to Lewis on the phone, one thing kind of did help, so to say. Or as she should say, someone. It was disgusting, the mere idea of seeking comfort in him. In White. It was like the years of studying at university had done naught. All the studying came to that moment, sitting in front of him. And all that happened was a mental blank. Her notes were beginning to become vague. Often now, she found herself trying to come up with some logical question to ask him. Perhaps it could be that his interviews of late hadn't given her any leads.

Then suddenly, it hit her. She'd been having too many of these moments, but this one was good. Somehow, with all her planning, she had completely evaded a core issue. A current one too! One that would definitely be an integral part of his transformation. His relationships. His relationships with other inmates. How could she have been so blind to it? The urge to grab a piece of paper and pen was strong; she had to get home. The blank feeling she had been feeling before was now subsiding and making room from creativity and excitement.

Her phone started to ring. This time, she really did groan.

"Hello?" She hissed. She hadn't even stopped to check the number before answering harshly.

"Is this Shirley Gibbs?" A strangely familiar, high-pitched voice rang out through her eardrum.

"Yes."

"Oh, phew! Shirls, it's me!" There was only one person, one person that called her that. Harleen Quinzel.

"Oh. Yes?" She flatly replied. Looking around she saw a few people had stopped to stare at her. Searching the bookstore she saw a small corner to continue the conversation.

"Well I was thinking it's been so long since we've 'ad a chance to catch up."

"So?" Shirley retorted, settling in to the corner.

"So? So? Why not, on this _boring_ Sunday afternoon, catch up?"

"And why would I?"

"Cause ya' silly goose, we are friends," Harley replied sweetly. It was like cheap sweets, oozing out of her phone. The fake sincerity was giving her headache. In the time she had known Harley, any time she had been 'nice', she always wanted something. This was one of those times. She sighed.

"What do you want?" Shirley asked, leaning against one of the walls making up the corner she was dwelling in.

"Shirls, darlin', I just want ta' see you! Work's been so heavy lately," Harley reasoned with her.

"And?"

"Look, you know that bar 'De Boon'?" Harley dodged her question. She heard someone call out in the store; the store was closing soon.

"No."

"Come one Shirls, it's dynamite!" Harley cheered loudly, causing Shirley to hold her phone away from her head momentarily. It was a lie. She did know where the bar was. The only reason was because Lewis had tried to take her there once but she had flat out refused. He'd only wanted to go there for the novelty of the name. For some reason he just found it hilarious because it sounded like 'baboon'. Sometimes she had to remind herself that he was doing a PhD.

"No."

"You know, in an interview I had with Mr. J – Joker the other day, I got some pretty interestin' details 'bout your White."

"He's not my – what?" She stuttered.

"Yeah, big stuff! Come on down and I'll spill!" Spill probably wasn't the best word but then again, Harley wasn't the best psychologist. Dammit, she couldn't do it. It was Sunday for shit's sake!

"When?" She couldn't, but she was. She was going to go to the blasted bar.

"Six o'clock, on the dot! You know, dock would sound _so_ much funnier." That was all Shirley heard before she hung up. Looking at the time on the screen she saw that she had a mere twenty minutes to get there. She switched her phone to silent, hoping not to hear Harley's voice again until she got to the bar. Dashing out in to the street she hailed down a cab with a skill only a true Gotham citizen could posses. Lucky for her that she hadn't bought that extra milkshake, otherwise she would have just been short of the cab fare. With haste, the cabbie sped over to the bar. They came to a set of traffic lights, filled with many cars. The cabbie grasped the moment and took the chance to start questioning her.

"So, been to De Boon before?" He asked in a merry voice.

"No."

"Ah shit, serious? You must be living under one hell of a rock then," he joked, turning around to face her. In response, she merely rolled her eyes. It was going to be one of _those_ cabbies. In the past she had the misfortune of catching the talkative, 'I'm-driving-you-somewhere-so-I-can-cross-examine-you' cabbies. That was sadly one of the driving forces to get her own car and because she was sick of being short for cash. Credit cards were a no go zone for her when it involved cabs. The cabbie took her silence as clear, shut up, but he couldn't help himself. "Well, you excited about going there then?"

"Not really, why?" She sighed. Well, that was a lie. She was excited. Not to go to the actual bar, so she guessed it wasn't _really _a lie. He frowned for a moment, but continued.

"Well, be careful there. It's usually full of mobsters," he warned.

"The light is green," she managed to respond. What was she getting herself in to? She would stand out in a _mobster bar_. If it wasn't her attire that would give her away, then it just had to be something. They'd catch on.

"Oh shit!" He yelled, tooting his way past some cars and took a sharp left. With the car's sharp turn, she bashed in to the left side of the cab. Where had this man learnt to drive? It was five past six now and she was feeling nervous. This whole situation was crazy. It was a patient, from _work_. She was wasting her Sunday afternoon and no doubt, night, on a patient. But it wasn't a patient. It was White. And for some crazy reason, that made it okay. It was justifiable.

The cab screeched to a stop. It took a moment for her to realize where she was. When she had been here with Lewis, it had been the middle of the day. Now, with the sun setting and the cold air seeping in to the atmosphere, it felt like a whole new place. Opening the door, she took a cautious step outside. The pavement was wet and the air not only felt cold, but damp. She shivered and began to walk away before she heard a toot. Unintentionally, she jumped. Turning around she saw the talkative cabbie with his hand outside his window, waiting.

"Come on, I raced over here," he said, sticking his arm outside the window even further. Walking back over to him she placed a ten in his hand. "That's it?"

"Your driving skills were less then passable."

"This is it? Whatever, lady," he said angrily and drove off, ten dollars in hand. Pulling her jacket closer to her out of a combination of the cold and fear, she walked down the street to the bar. It had to be on the borderline of the Narrows, it had to be. As she walked down the empty street, she could hear some chatter. Looking up she saw that she was now at the bar. The 'De Boon' sign hung lowly above a set of surprisingly nice, but aged wooden doors with a window in each. The chatter was coming from within these doors and she wasn't sure if she wanted to immerse herself in it. It was already ten past six - she was late. There was still a chance to get out of here though. Her hands were wavering above the left door, contemplating on what to do. Did she want another interview with pathetic questions and measly notes or did she want to walk away from this, like she should and go home?

No, she needed to do this.

With a push, she walked in. She hated to admit it but she had been expecting everyone to glance her way and give her glares and stares. Nothing happened though. Of course she got a few looks, however for the most part, no one really noticed her. In the sea of dark and light heads, she couldn't find Harley. Was this a prank? Of course it was. Just as she was about to walk back out, with the few remains of her dignity, she heard her name. A deep, Italian accented voice was calling her name out. Not too loudly, but enough to get a few people's attention. Turning around, she felt her face muscles drop.

Rocco was here.

As if he was Moses, the sea of people parted for him and he gracefully made his way over to her. His height was daunting and so was his hand on her arm.

"What are you doing here?" He said warmly. What the hell was going on? Should she start acting like a friendly, warm person too? Everyone of whom she knew from work was. She mentally laughed at the image of Dr. Westler smiling.

"Um, I was meeting someone," she replied, unsure of what she was really doing here. Without realizing, he had started to pull her to an exclusive room, cut off from the rest of the bar. She found herself in an extravagant room with Rocco. The room had deep, lush red colours. The walls were a dark, almost burgundy and carpet was a blood red. There were no windows, but the one painting in the room. It looked like an impressionist painting of a city. In the middle of the room was a beautiful wooden table, with a large man and two women seated next to him.

"Rocco, who's the blonde?" The large man asked, in a disproving tone. Shirley hoped she wasn't flushed, but it was extremely warm in here. The sharp change of temperature had hit her, leaving her sweating in her sweater and jacket. Rocco wore a loose, buttoned open black top with dark jeans.

"Now of your business, get out of here," he responded harshly, but yet in a collected tone. The smile on the large man's face drop and he wriggled out of his seat. The two women, whose breasts were falling out of their tight dresses, looked confused but remained seated. Rocco remained in his position, the large man now just getting out of his seat. "Ladies, that includes you."

Like the man, the rose from their seats nervously but saved a moment to glare venomously at Shirley. It would take more than that to scare her. Now alone, Rocco offered her a seat. She took it and sat down.

"So Shirley, who are you meeting up with?" He asked politely, taking a seat near her.

"Harleen Quinzel."

"That ditzy blonde? Take no offence Shirley, but I must admit I thought you kept better company."

"Oh, well, um." Like her tongue had decided to drop dead, it flopped around in her mouth as she attempted to respond. At work, she held the higher position, above Rocco. But here, in the real world, she felt like a little fish in the deep blue sea.

"Well, what about I let the guys outside know that you are expecting her. When is she supposed to be here?" He offered, already rising from his seat.

"Fifteen minutes ago."

"Late I see. I'll be right back," he said in a calm tone, rising from his seat. That left her sitting alone in this room. Slipping out of her jacket she felt some relief from the heat in the room but not enough. All she was wearing underneath her sweater was a baggy t-shirt. The sweater stayed on. Remaining in her seat, she focused on the large painting hanging on the wall opposite her. It was beautiful, she guessed, but it was an odd painting. It was grim, dark and looked wet, like the paint had never dried. Like Gotham. Focusing on the skyline she saw a faint light, painting in to it. In the sky, amongst the clouds, was Batman's emblem. What an odd painting.

Rocco walked back in to the room, but was accompanied this time with three other men. Like Rocco, they were all Italian and fit. One was considerably shorter than the other three of them, but they were like bloody giants. All seated around the table, one had a pack of cards.

"Barman said he would keep an eye out for her," Rocco informed her, sitting the closest to her. She nodded in his direction but turned her gaze to the middle of the table.

"Rocco, don't be a rude bastard, introduce us to the lady," the shorter one said, with a smirk lazing about on his face.

"Shirley, these are some of my friends," he acknowledged them with a smile. He introduced her to the three of them, which in turn greeted her. The short one was Carlo and the other two giants were brothers, Celio and Loris.

"Up for a game?" Loris asked, opening the deck of cards in his hand. Unlike his brother Celio (which she guessed was older) he had shoulder length brown hair that had been pushed back slightly.

"What's on the table?" His brother Celio responded, leaning his arms forward on the table. Celio had short hair, falling loosely around his face.

"Start off with fifty." Carlo slammed a fifty down, the others followed.

"Do you want to play Shirley?" Rocco asked, turning to her.

"No, I'll watch though," she replied. The only reason she had slipped in the last line was because of how bloody nervous she was. Pulling back the sleeve of her sweater, she saw that it was nearly half past six. The four of them were joking around and she just wanted to get out. She felt like a bloody idiot. Why in the world would _Harley_ do anything that wasn't for herself? Just then she noticed the amount of money on the table. Hundreds and fifties were laying about the table; Carlo seemed to be losing.

"So what does the lady here do?" Carlo asked, looking up from his cards.

"I'm a psychologist," she ground out.

"Ah, one of those," Celio responded stretching back.

"One of those what?" She asked, eyeing him. He smirked and ignored her question.

"My last girlfriend wanted to be one." Loris smirked, laying down a card. Carlo groaned and threw his cards on the table.

"Well our boy Rocco here just got a job at Arkham Asylum, crazy shit house," Carlo jabbed.

"Carlo, you know she is a doctor there."

"He does?" She looked at Rocco inquisitively. That was it; she was leaving and going home. She wasn't too sure about her self-respect though.

"Of course, I," he paused, smiling, "was talking about the incident the other day." Her heart stopped, well felt like it. Oh God! How absolutely, completely and utterly embarrassing. This topped the list. The knowledge now that people she didn't really know, knew about _that_, was completely degrading.

"Rocco, I am leaving." Her blunt response took Carlo by surprise but he recovered quickly. Rocco on the other hand did not react. She stood up and pushed her chair away.

"Stick around for a little more, she'll show, knowing _her_," he reassured calmly, but her lingered on the last word with a faint hint of rancour. Looking at him for a moment, she rolled her eyes. She walked over to the door but heard something that made her pause.

"Yeah, I remember that. What was his name? White, or something?" Loris commented, sliding his cards over to Carlo. She turned slightly.

"Fucking hell, him?" Carlo added, shuffling the cards for a new game. It looked like Rocco had won. She turned around completely now and looked at the men at the table. Maybe they knew something? She felt like slapping herself for the last comment she had just made.

"Yeah, Shirley is his," Rocco paused as Carlo passed him his new cards, "psychologist."

The pause made her feel uncomfortable and she didn't know how to respond. No one was acknowledging her, so she didn't know if she should just continue to leave or stay, somehow.

"Hey Shirley, you sure you don't want to play?" Carlo looked up, waiting for her to respond.

"I don't have any cash on me," she responded after a moment. For once, she was thankful for the lack of cash in her bag, it had come in handy. She had been that close to saying 'yes.'

"Looks like you'll be watching again then?" Loris commented with a smirk. Making her way back over to Rocco, she took her seat again.

"Well, if you are going to watch again, want a drink?" He offered, looking at her. Before she could respond, Carlo cut in.

"Oh! You know who was wicked at playing when he was off his face…" Carlo's face had dropped to one that was mingled with hints of fear. He shook his head and finished giving everyone their cards.

"Celio, get us some drinks?" Rocco asked but his tone suggested otherwise, more like an order. Never in her life would she have foreseen a situation like this, with herself in it. Sitting with four men at a table, who were gambling and about to get a drink. Shit, Lewis would lose it if he found out. The guys continued to play and Celio came back shortly, no drinks in hand.

"Hey, where are the drinks?" Carlo asked, annoyed.

"Someone is bringing them in," he responded dully and picked up his cards, entering the game. Again, Rocco appeared to be in the lead.

"So Shirley, how do you find Arkham?" Loris asked, looking at her intently.

"Find it? In what context?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Whatever context you want," he responded lazily. Just then, the door opened. A woman in her early thirties walked in, hair pulled back and her locks piled on top of her head.

"Ah, darling, where have you been?" Carlo remarked suggestively. She didn't respond, but merely kept her head down as she placed the different drinks in front of everyone. Shirley noticed that she had a large glass of white wine placed in front of her. It was about the only alcoholic drink she liked. Getting to Carlo last she placed his drink in front of him. He hit her ass and tried to pull her in to his lap. Celio rolled his eyes.

"Come on darling, lay it on my cheek at least?" He said fake, sweet voice. She struggled slightly but remained silent. Then just when Shirley thought she was going to slap him, she kissed on the cheek and dashed out of the room.

"Carlo, don't be such a dick," Loris said, looking over at the smug Carlo. She looked at her glass, wondering what to do. Before, she hadn't really said that she wanted a drink. Somehow, they had managed to get this, the one she actually liked. They were all taking sips from their drinks but continued to ignore her. Why the hell was she here? Really? To mingle? With these guys? She doubted that she'd ever come in to contact with them again.

"Shirley, what do you think of the bastard?" Carlo asked.

"Which one?" She replied, honestly. Carlo burst out laughing, Loris chuckled lowly and not even Celio could suppress a smirk. Rocco though remained silent, focusing on the game.

"White," Carlo managed to answer, still laughing slightly. Grasping the glass in her hand, she took a small sip. The sweet but bitter flavour burned her tongue but got pleasanter by the second. Again, she took another sip, but bigger this time. Shit, she said to herself, this is good. Grasping on to the stem even more, she took a gulp and then proceeded to respond.

"Frustrating."

"Care to elaborate?" Loris remarked, taking a large sip from his own drink.

"How so?" She toyed, taking another sip from her drink. He looked at her, waiting for her to _elaborate_. The liquid in her glass sloshed around as she moved it side to side, ever so slightly. "I don't know, I just can't decipher his moods. When you think you've got him, he's got you. Frustrating."

A reason she didn't ever like to drink alcohol was because of her low tolerance to it. At this moment, she knew she was getting drunk. What she didn't know was that all the men at the table also knew this.

"I worked for him once, at his company," Celio said, watching Shirley carefully.

"Really? Was he as frustrating as he is now?" She quipped, taking a gulp from her drink. Another waiter came in, a man this time, and re-filled her glass. Only her drink. She didn't notice.

"Haha, not close," Celio chuckled, taking a sip from his drink. So their game continued, with a few comments. Carlo and Loris at one point were bickering about something, but she didn't understand, it was in Italian. Her head felt dizzy. Tugging on Rocco's sleeve she asked him where the bathroom was, but not that politely. He smirked and told her where to go. Dragging herself up, she made her way to the toilet. When she was washing her hands, she decided that she could ask the barman if Harley had come. It was probably like what, seven now?

Walking out in to the main room she saw that it was not as packed as it had been when she had arrived there. She might be intoxicated but she wasn't off her face. Stumbling over to the counter. Quite unladylike, she asked him if he had seen Harley.

"She a blonde?"

"Yes."

"Hours ago, at about a quarter to seven," he replied, pouring a glass for a pathetic man leaning heavily on the counter.

"But, Rocco told you to send her in," she said, annoyed. And hours? She highly doubted that, highly.

"Look, all he told me was to keep her away," the barman bit back, walking away from her. Leaning heavily against the counter, she felt herself going cold. Grabbing her bag, she fumbled around, looking for her phone.

_12:46 A.M._

Fuck! She'd been here for hours. And she hadn't even realized! Looking up, back to the back of the bar where she knew they were all waiting for her, she felt sick. The combination of fear and alcohol were wearing heavily on her stomach. She noticed then that she had twelve missed calls. Before she could check whom they were from, her phone started to light up. It was her mum…..mum's mobile?

"Hello?" She said softly.

"Shirley? Oh my God. I have been trying to call you for hours! I've tried everything! Where are you?" Her mother's voice cried out loudly through the phone.

"Out, why?" Shirley snarled, with an unknown anger.

"God Shirley, please," her mother pleaded, sounded extremely distressed.

"What?" She sighed, continuing to lean against the counter. If this was because she hadn't visited lately, she swore that she would snap.

"Oh Shirley, please. I – I tried your apartment, I even tried Lewis! He said he'd been trying to call you too!" Her mother shrieked at the end.

"Mum, what is wrong?" She asked, annoyed.

"Shirley," she sobbed, crying in to the phone, "Oh my God." Her mother never, _never_ blasphemed this much. Only when, only when something was seriously wrong.

"Mum?" She asked, yet again. She was met with cries before she got a response.

"Your father, your father, he - he collapsed. It's bad."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I promise White will be in the next chapter! This sadly, is just a 'filler' chapter, but bear with me! This is an **_**extremely**_** important chapter. I send my love to my reviewers. Read and review. **_**Jazzie**_

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

Work had graciously let her have the next days off, but after that she had to come back. Arkham was a busy place and they couldn't afford to have any of their employees off. Yesterday had been awful. After leaving the bar in the crisp air, she had somehow hailed a cab in her disheveled state. She'd used her credit card. It only hit her when she got the hospital that she had left her jacket with Rocco. The jacket had never looked good on her anyway.

The doctors didn't know what was wrong. What they did know though, was that it wasn't looking good. They said he was quite malnourished and was surprised that he hadn't collapsed sooner. When she had gotten to the hospital, some of the effects from the wine had settled slightly but she still looked slightly tipsy. As soon as her mother saw her, she threw her arms around her and wept. Shirley hadn't known what the hell to do, so she slowly weaved her arms around her mother and stroked her back, trying to calm her down. From what she remembered, the doctors had told them that at the current moment they did not know what was wrong with her father. He was still unconscious and in intensive care. At about half past two in the morning, her mother drove her home.

Shirley had woken up and six thirty and honestly felt like shit had driven all over her. She had forgotten how many glasses she had had but she knew that the 'glass' had been huge. Her body told her to go back to bed but her brain was telling her to suck it and face the consequences of her actions. She took a shower and fixed herself up a little bit. It wasn't great, but it was an improvement, even if it was only slightly. Her mum had called and that resulted in Shirley saying that _she _would come pick her up. If Shirley did know anything, she knew that her mother could not drive when upset like this. It had taken a little while but eventually that got to the hospital at about quarter to eight. Her father was still unconscious but in wee hours of the morning, he had been moved out of intensive care. His condition was now stable. The doctors had taken _all_ kinds of samples and were currently having tests run on them.

He just lay there, asleep. Right now the doctors hadn't wanted to wake him but they kept the reasons to themselves. She could guess. They both, her mother and herself, had held his hands for the entire day. Her mother had explained what had happened but she didn't provide many details. When it came to the part where her mother had found him on the floor, in a puddle of blood, she became vague. He had no visible wounds, so the doctors concluded that something was wrong, internally.

"I thought he was dead."

That was what her mother kept saying and Shirley suppressed her emotions. For her mother, she had to. It was hard to but on the brave, cold front, but she had to do it. They had left at half past four and she had gotten home at six. The next day was the same. He had woken up hazily for about ten minutes then drifted back off. Right now the doctors were saying that rest was the best thing for him. It didn't feel right leaving her mother in the house. She had tried to go in but her mother said everything was fine. So she drove home and hit traffic.

Exiting the lift, she rolled her neck. Tomorrow was going to be an even _earlier_ morning. Now she didn't think she had White, but she would have to check. Right now she wasn't sure if she could handle him. According to her memory, her timetable told her that she had some low category patients. She dragged a tired hand through her curls and approached her apartment door. Shuffling her other hand through her bag, she snatched the metal key from it and slipped it in to the lock. Odd. It felt like she didn't need to wiggle it around. She pulled it back out and clasped the door handle; it opened. Slowly, she reached in to her bag and grasped the new pepper spray. Stealthily, or at least attempting to, she snuck in to her apartment. She threw her arms up, hands ready to push the life out of the nozzle. But there was no one. The lights were off and it was dark.

Walking past the lounge and dining room, she proceeded in to the kitchen. Nothing. The bathroom. Nothing. Creeping on the floor, hoping for dear life that the floors wouldn't creak, she dashed in to her bedroom. Again nothing. She sighed and turned the light on. Maybe she had left it unlocked when she had left. Stupid, but probable. She swore though, that she had locked the door. Walking back around her apartment, she turned on all the lights, just to be sure. Getting back to the lounge and dining room, she flicked the lights on.

At first, she didn't know what to think. On her humble dining table were white roses. They were pooling over the edges of the table and many flowers had fallen to the floor. She took a step forward, then another, until she was at her table. Lightly, she trailed her fingers along the petals. The smell was strong but not overpowering. There was no way Lewis could have done this. She couldn't begin to imagine how many roses were lying on her table, let alone the cost. It would have to be in the thousands. And she knew Lewis wasn't getting that much money, not even with the part time job he had just gotten at science department at Gotham City University. He was working as a tutor for some students.

Taking a step back, she saw that they were in some elaborate arrangement, but at first it was hard to decipher with all the white. If Lewis hadn't of given these to her, then who had? Delicately she searched for some kind of card or paper. Even in the circumstances, these were beautiful roses and she wasn't that heartless, as to discard or damage them. Maneuvering her hand and fingers to nearly every flower, nook and cranny in the bouquet, she could find nothing. Maybe they were here by mistake? She did live in a very large apartment block. But still didn't explain how the person, or even people, would have gotten in. She didn't get to think much longer about it though, as her doorbell rang.

Peeping through the eyehole, she saw it was Lewis. With a humble bouquet of flowers in hand. For a moment, she hesitated. The large bouquet of flowers, roses none the less, would definitely look questionable. Finally she opened the door slowly, but not enough to welcome him in.

"Hey!" He said with a bright smile and leaned forward to kiss her but she moved her head, his lips gracing her right cheek. With the predicament with her father, he didn't take it personally. Thrusting the flowers out to her she took it with a soft smile but still did not let him in. He looked at her nervously; maybe the flowers had been a bad move.

"Thanks for the flowers," she thanked softly. The bouquet of flowers consisted of some white daisies, pink ileums, some unrecognizable deep blue, small flowers and leaves, all wrapped with green tissue paper and clear plastic sheets.

"Can I come in?" He asked, peering past her, in to the apartment. How could she respond? There was no way she could hide those flowers. She hadn't even checked if the thorns were still on them, it was hard to see the stems with all the roses.

"Um, ah."

"Look, I know you've had a rough time with your dad. We can order some Chinese? Or pizza? I know you love that." When had she become such a sap? Maybe she wanted to be alone. But, he was being so sweet. No, she said in her head, he can't. There was no way he's miss them.

"Maybe not tonight," she concluded. Lewis didn't seem to take it though, if anything it seemed to fuel his want to come in.

"It's okay, I'll order," he said, pushing past her in to her apartment. "Now do you want…" He stopped in the middle of the lounge and dining room. Eyes glued to the mass of roses, he was speechless. Awkwardly, she stood behind him. There was no way she could hide it; it was all too incontrovertible. There was hundreds and hundreds of white roses sitting on her dining table, and she had no idea who they were from or how they had gotten there. Simple as that. She wished.

She was used to being cold and for the most, unmoved. This though, was extremely distressing. He wasn't saying anything, he hadn't even moved.

"Lewis?" The silence hung heavily in the air and Shirley fidgeted on her spot, holding his flowers.

"Who-who are these from?" He managed to stay, still with his back facing her. From her co-workers? Friends? Even if she did have friends, she doubted that they could scrap enough money to buy these. The only thing she could do was lie.

"From some co-workers." His body turned to face her and the lie seemed to dissolve, right before her eyes. He wasn't an idiot. Co-workers don't buy other co-workers roses. It was too romantic. And he knew that.

"Shirley, really, who are they from?"

"I, I told you – co-workers," she stuttered, grasping Lewis's bouquet firmly. He sighed and walked past her, shutting the door. Her eyes followed him as he returned to his previous position.

"For a psychologist, you are a shit liar." She had never really found the need to lie in her life. Often people didn't look past her cold manner and didn't think of anything more that really, she was a bitch. She liked it, people didn't ask prying questions. Right now though, well, she didn't know.

"I'm not lying," she said firmly.

"Not once have you talked about co-workers you get along with. It's either about Dr. Westler, which I doubt would send these," he said, motioning to the roses, "and the Warden, and honestly, I don't think he would give a rat's ass." Grabbing a chair, he planted himself on it and crossed his arms; she couldn't dodge her way out of this.

"Fine, it's not. What does it matter?" She venomously replied, taking Lewis by surprise.

"What does it matter? It matters that my girlfriend's got thousands of dollars worth of white roses, lying in her apartment!" He said loudly, uncrossing his arms and using them to emphasize what he was saying.

"What did you say?" He'd done it, put a title on it. _Girlfriend_ burnt in to her mind and she felt a weight coiling around in her chest. With her dad in hospital and the doctors still having no idea what was wrong with him, she couldn't bear another responsibility like this; what the title entailed.

"Please Shirley, not now. Who gave it to you?"

"I don't know!" She yelled, throwing her arms up. The bouquet in her hand fell to the floor and some flowers fell out. Both their eyes snapped to the floor. She couldn't look at his eyes now. Bending down to the floor, she delicately picked up the flowers and rushed to the kitchen. Lewis sat in the chair still, looking defeated. The apartment was once again filled with silence. All that could be heard was the unraveling of the flowers as she moved them in to a vase. Walking back in to the room, she placed it on her coffee table.

"Shirley, could you at _least_ tell me who brought the flowers to your door?" He asked softly, his head in hand and looking down. Turning back to him, she was thankful at the broken eye contact. If he wasn't angry right now, she knew he would be if she told him what had happened.

"I'm not sure." Her whole demeanour and tone was characteristic of her; was she really that bad at lying? Even at merely concealing information?

"Did they have a logo on their shirt? Did they have any form of identification on them?"

"I don't know Lewis."

"How can you not know?" His head snapped up and she could see that his eyes were red.

"Lewis, they," she paused but forced herself to continue, "they were here when I got home. The door was unlocked."

Silence. Slowly, he rose from his seat and walked over to her. Never, never had she seen him like this. It was scary, scarier than White. White? Why the hell was he popping up now? She asked herself, angry.

"So you don't know who they are from and you don't know how they got here?"

"Yes." Her throat was choking up and she felt her eyes becoming warm. Why was she the 'baddie' in this situation? The way he stalked over to made her feel small, like she did when she was interviewing White. This was different though. With White, he was more puzzling but not angry like Lewis. His figure was daunting and she hated feeling like a teary mess.

"Then, if what you are saying is true – why haven't you called the police?" The flatness of his voice was freaking her out. Even if she wasn't the wrongdoer, she'd rather him yell. She didn't reply and he just sighed loudly and walked over to her handset.

"No!" She cried, grabbing his arm. Now she really was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks and hitting her chest.

"Why?" He asked, hand still on her handset. Her grip wavered but she kept her hand in place. Why?

"It doesn't matter."

"Not matter? Fuck, Shirley, if you are cheating just say it." He stepped back from her. She had never felt so broken and emotional in her life. The combination of her dad and Lewis accusing her of such a thing made her tears heavier.

"I'm not, I'm not. I am telling the truth," she pleaded. Her arms at her sides were itching to hold something, to keep her grounded. Lewis ran a nervous hand through his hair and sighed, looking at the crumbling mess that Shirley was.

"Okay, you're not. Please, babe, just tell me why you don't want me to call the police?" He supplicated, taking her shaky hand. The mere _thought_ of going to the police or, God forbid, they come here, frightened her. Irrational thoughts and images played in her head. Her eyes closed and she squeezed them, trying to regain control of herself. Opening them again, the lights had changed; they were fluorescent. The floor, cement and the walls blaringly white. And in front of her, puddles of blood, dropping from covered bodies on metal tables. But there was a table, with white roses.

Her attention flashed back to the present, Lewis waiting in front of her. What did he know? Hell, it wasn't his business. She was sure. What right did he have to ask her all these questions? But it was scary. No matter how righteous she wanted to feel or thought she wanted to feel. Someone had been in her apartment and she didn't know who he or she was. The thought violated her mind and she shivered. And why on Earth did she not want the police here? Simple. There was no way she was going back _there_. A spider with long legs crawled around her mind, playing with the idea of maybe; maybe it was the right thing to do.

It's what she should do.

"Maybe," she replied. It wasn't an answer but Lewis took it as enough to reach for the handset yet again. What would happen now? Police come over here or she goes to them? She'd have a file. Now that would be something she wouldn't be able to get rid of. No matter how good she was, it would be there. Someone hadn't robbed her and right now she wished they had instead of all this happening. Someone had left _something_ worth thousands, lying in her apartment. The police would want to find out. Then they'd ask where she worked. Arkham. Her career. White.

"Shirley, are you even listening?" Lewis once again, brought her back to the moment.

"Not really."

"Well please focus! I'm going to call the police."

"No," she said, calmly this time. Already she had appeared too vulnerable in front of him. Reaching for his hand, she pushed it away. He was not, _not_ going to ruin everything. The flowers never happened. This all, never happened. The consequences were too great. The thought of loosing White to another doctor made her boil within. She could just see it, someone else taking her credit. No, that could and _would_ not happen.

"Are you serious?"

"Look Lewis, I don't think you understand the gravity of this all," she said calmly but the undertone of her words made him drop his arm completely. It was like she had suddenly switched sides. Grabbing her by the shoulders, at a loss of what to do, he shook her.

"Shirley! Please, someone broke in here!" he yelled. She fought him but he continued to hold her and shake her. What was wrong with her?

"Let me go!" She yelled, hitting him the jaw. His arms dropped and he grabbed his jaw. Aside from the throbbing pain in his jaw, his chest ached. She had just punched him.

"Shirley?" he whispered, locking eyes with her. For a moment, he swore he must be in a dream. Right now, it was like she was the White Queen of Narnia, cold eyes and a chilling voice. But the pain in his jaw and chest were all too real. This whole situation was real. And it hurt.

"I have a career."

"I don't understand," he said slowly, what did that have to do with anything?

"Honestly, I don't expect you too. You are still in university, but I have a career, a career that could potentially be _permanently_ blemished by this," she explained unequivocally. It did hurt to treat him like this and her hand was killing her. She probably wouldn't be able to write tomorrow. His mouth was open, in pure shock.

"This isn't, this isn't about that _patient_, is it?" He asked hoarsely. The way he had said 'patient' made her angry. White wasn't just a patient, he was, he was what would make her! He was more complex than a _patient_.

"White is not a patient Lewis."

"Shirley, listen to yourself. Maybe you need a break?" He tried to go for her again, to reassure her that he was earnest. Before he could make a move, she stepped back.

"Leave."

"Come on-"

"Leave."

"Fine!" He yelled and slammed the door. The silence that followed was almost suffocating in comparison to the slam of the door. Wringing her hands, she tried to keep herself together. Standing idly in the middle of the room, she looked at the flowers. There on coffee table were Lewis's flowers, blooming with colour and vibrancy. The combination of colours in her eyes was risky and daring, but it did work. It was something that something she would have not picked out. But she liked it. The fact that she had punched Lewis, though, was something she already regretted. It had come out of nowhere. Considering the situation, she guessed it was acceptable. But he wasn't just anyone. He was her - boyfriend.

On her dining table lay the roses. They were beautiful but were almost deceiving in their bleakness. They were something to admire, not to be fiddled with. Who were they from? Why would someone spend this much on her? She could play with the idea that it was a mistake, but she knew it wasn't. Even if she didn't know why. So for the next hour, she picked them up and placed them accordingly around her apartment. All the loose roses were put in to three vases and the large bouquet was put in to her bedroom. She didn't know why. They should be in the bin. They were so beautiful, though, alluring with their bleak whiteness. The texture of the petals drew her in, there was more to them then met the eye.

Before heading off to bed, she checked her roster, just to confirm her thoughts. Yes, yes, she thought as she saw the names. Then her heart sped up, from what she was lost.

She had White.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Argh! I am so sorry. Something big happened to my family back in the middle of August and I have had to be there for my family. For the last few weeks, whilst I have been busy, I have been procrastinating. Sorry to Night Monkey (ever patient beta), Effy x (really!), especially The Jackel () and all my reviewers! Read and review. **_**Jazz**_

**The Jackel (): Ah! That statue! Trust me, just have a big piece of stone and ta-da, that's me. Thanks for the review, great to hear something from you again.**

**P.S I think I said 'Gotham City University' in previous chapters, how stupid is that? It's Gotham University.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

"I just saw her and I knew that she was _changing_," Mr. Walker seethed, looking down in to his lap. Shirley never found these interviews _enlightening. _Listening to a man talk about his fantasies with young girls was not something that she had ever wanted to do when she chose this profession but she knew that she would have to. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was time for him to return to his cell.

"I think that is enough for today, Mr. Walker," she said, closing her notepad. The guard came in, cuffed Walker and took him away. She'd had one hell of a day; already she had three patients, including Walker. Next was Mrs. Thompson and then, White. The plan was done, she had rushed it before starting work for the day. Since last night, she hadn't heard a word from Lewis. Her mother had called in between one of her interviews earlier on in the day. Her dad was finally awake, but in agonizing pain. It was like being punched in the gut every time she heard that her father was crying. The mere thought that he was in that much pain hurt her. It was times like this that she wished she were a doctor. The test results hadn't been conclusive and the doctors wanted to perform a colonoscopy and endoscopy, just to check all the grounds. Right now they said they thought it was a stomach ulcer or perhaps one that has gotten infected. It's bad, but curable.

Sitting at her computer she created a new document and began to type up another summary for Walker. Her office phone began to ring and she picked it up.

""Hello, this is Dr. Shirley Gibbs, how may I help you?"

"Dr. Gibbs, this is Dr. Howard from Medical Facility."

"Yes, what's wrong?" She asked, looking at the summary, she really wanted to finish it.

"Your patient Mrs. Jane Thompson is currently unavailable to attend interviews until further notice."

"Why?"

"Earlier this morning she had a stroke and her heart has become extremely unstable; we are monitoring her."

"Oh, okay." Why couldn't she converse with other doctors like this on a regular basis?

"Thank you Dr. Gibbs." Well that left her with some time until White's interview. Even if she did summarize all the interviews she had had today, she'd still have some time until White showed up. It would be nice to get out of the office too, she thought. So she typed all the interview summaries and set out to walk around the Arkham grounds. She found it mildly amusing how Arkham kept so many gardens; the patients rarely, if ever caught a glimpse of them. Nevertheless, she was grateful for them. Being inside a small room all day, nearly every day was exhausting physically and mentally.

Today though, the plants couldn't even calm her. Shirley felt like she constantly had to keep herself in check. If she stopped for a moment too long, not doing anything, the current predicaments would bombard her. The best way, she found, to describe how she felt was like a bursting dam. The cracks were small but if she thought to long, the water would stir and the cracks would continue to fracture. Nothing was bringing her solitude, though! Her books, her work, nothing! Then there was the interview. White. How had she come to dread them, yet, be so excited at the same time?

She didn't want to know why. All she knew was that it was _wrong_.

Taking a glance, she saw that it was nearly time. The interview was set and ready to go, the plan that was. Even though she had it all planned out, it was _now_ never an assurance that the interview would actually follow the plan. Holding her head high and shoulders back, she made her way back to her office. She was making good time until she saw a familiar figure.

"Dr. Quinzel?" Shirley called out, hoping that she didn't sound too eager. The woman quickly turned around, an anxious expression deeply etched in to her face. Harley caught Shirley's eyes and smiled frantically.

"Shirls!" She cried and rushed over to her. Shirley backed away but it was too late, the bubbly blonde had her arms tightly wrapped around her.

"Dr. Qu – Harley please let me go," she asked, not moving a muscle. It was in her better interest, at this time, to use her nickname. Harley dropped Shirley and stepped back.

"You know, I went ta' the bar," Harley said loudly, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. Adrenaline pumped through Shirley's chest and her head whipped around the room. No one. That was all she needed! To be associated with Harley, _outside_ work.

"I, um, must have missed you."

"Yeah, but you didn't say nothin'!"

"I was – detained," she replied nervously. Not only had she agreed to meet up Harley outside of work, but also, she had basically ditched her for a fellow employee. And his friends. And she'd gotten drunk.

"Detained? I bet you were at a library or somethin'!" She was thankful for the woman's obvious idiocy at this moment. It appeared though, that she was dumber than usual, if it was possible. A wide smile was still plastered on Harley's face and her eyes danced around the hallway.

"Yeah, well -"

"You know, I'm guessing that you were working on Sharky!"

"If I was?" She snapped, making Harley smirk.

"Well Shirls, I'm beginning to thinks you're a wee, what's the word," Harley paused, a finger tapping her bottom lip, "obsessed!"

"I think you have made a mistake, _Harley_. Applying myself and completing my work is not obsessed."

"Haha! You are kinda funny. Sugar, you _are _obsessed with Sharky. Why else would you meet up with me?" It was then that Shirley realized Harley was not as dumb as she had once thought her.

"Oh! The time! I've got Mr. J!" With another jumper, Harley sped off. Shirley was left again to her own thoughts. That had been strange, to say the least. She would have expected Harley to be more, _exanimate_. Being that dumb was even out of Harley's nature. And her: obsessed? Shouldn't Harley look at her own obsessions before attacking her? It's not like she was obsessed with White. This though would have to wait; right now she needed to be at an interview.

Her office was becoming more and more uncomfortable. The desk in the corner was beginning to get in to a great state of disarray and she had books lying round her office. Standing on the spot she debated whether to quickly push them away somewhere. Why was it so important? She asked herself. Holding a notebook in her hand, she dropped it back to its place on the table opposite her desk. Papers lay on the table and much to her embarrassment, a few empty cups of coffee.

Awkwardly, she slipped in to her seat. Had it always felt this constricting? Maybe she had put more weight on. White was due any minute and she couldn't stop fidgeting, like a little kid who needed to go to the toilet. Nature wasn't making any calls though, thankfully. But it was too late to change seats (not that that was even an option). White was now in the room. Her eyes found White, standing there in the room. Rocco hadn't even asked to let him in! Quickly, she tried to compose herself. Slowly, White leisurely took his seat, eyes trained on her.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. White's customary smirk on his face and the sharp, filed teeth peeking out. Her stomach was going crazy, nervousness and excitement mixed together, leaving her blank. Snapping to the moment though, she looked down at her interview plan. She tried to read the first line but her concentration was broken. He was staring at her. Forcing herself, she managed to say something.

"Mr. White, how are you today?" She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief; she had sounded confident. In control, not so sure. He didn't say anything but heavens, did his bloody body language say everything. You are the doctor, she repeated in her head. That was something she found herself telling herself often now when in the same room with him.

"Well, Shirley. Yourself?" He asked, leaning forward in his chair. Already, her hand was moving above his notepad, making notes. For a moment, he glanced at her hand and chuckled quietly. Her head remained focused on the paper but she had heard him. The adrenaline once again rushed throughout her with a pump of her heart.

"Inconsequential." She lifted her head, to see White rising from his seat. He walked behind her, out of her sight. The chair was uncomfortable but to get up would be even more uncomfortable. She wondered what it was like to be the doctor assigned to Jonathon Crane. He only got assigned to the most senior doctors here. Why? She didn't want to know but hell, she could guess. He had been a bloody psychologist himself! He would know all the tricks and approaches.

Personally, she never wanted to meet the man. Hand her the Joker any day. White too. White. What was he doing? She looked back down at the notepad. By now, the page would at least be half way full. This man was more dynamic then he appeared to be. But she'd figure him out. Fidgeting in her seat, she proceeded with the interview.

"Mr. White-"

"Warren." She paused. He had said that very, shortly. Still, he was behind her, so his body language was unreadable. Maybe, she thought, maybe if I just call him by his name, it'll help. Grasping her pen and taking a breath, she continued.

"Warren, could you tell me about your relationships with the inmates at Arkham?"

"Mixed, varied." Again, his response was short. Shirley detected the faintest hint of a smirk in his tone. Most definitely, he was playing with her today. To show how she didn't mind him standing up, out of her eyesight, she remained in her seat. The fragility in these interviews was great and if she had to break bloody rules to get somewhere, she would.

"Would you care to delineate any one of them?"

"Well, what would you be interested in? A friend? Associates?" He spoke with great enthusiasm, and then he paused. "Or perhaps, my dear, you would be interested in enemies, rivals – _lovers_."

"You have had lovers, _here_?" She said it, before she had realized the thought had passed through her mind. A chuckle was heard from behind her, a deep one. She really wished that she could see him, to help her construe his current mood. But she didn't dare. And, for some odd, reason, Shirley felt a little fire coiling in her chest. Her hands tensed and she lost the grip on her pen. Slowly, for her, it tumbled to the grey carpet floor. A pen had fallen to the floor and Shirley was at a lost in how to retrieve it. Why was she worrying so much?

She had hoped Warren hadn't noticed. But, he had. White trailed a disfigured hand along the top of her chair and bent down, picked up the pen and placed it in her lap. Eyes down, she couldn't look up. Time was dwindling away and she was wasting it by staring at the pen on her lap.

"No, to your question. I just wanted to throw it in, to see what would happen," he said darkly. Raising her head, she saw his gaze laying intently and intensely on her. Was this how interviews with madmen went? Did people, fellow peers, find this the best aspect of their job?

"I think it best, Warren, if we continue."

"Of course, darling," he replied, standing tall above her. He made no move to sit down in the chair though. Nervously, she took the pen in her hand again. The nicknames, pet names, were annoying and uncomforting.

"Warren, I would also ask you to," she paused momentarily, "to refrain yourself from calling me anything but doctor or Dr. Gibbs." No one, according to her memory, had ever called her 'darling'. She found it endearing, in a way, even when Warren called her it, but it also scared her.

"Oh Shirley, are we back to that?"

"Well since you seem so inclined, please tell me of your encounters with Mr. Joker?"

"Why do the doctors insist on putting a 'Mr.' in front of his alias?"

"I think it is more than an alias, Warren."

"Oh of course. Well, I must say that I have only met the man a few times," he said, now casually walking around the room. This time, she followed him as he slowly walked around the room. It hit her then, her office was incredibly dull. Perhaps she could bring some of those roses in to work? Hell, she had enough of them. She could sell them, however, that was more of an amusing thought. There were a lot, though. If she had friends, she might have given some to them. There would be questions though, who gave them to you? They must _really_ like you! It was sickeningly sweet.

"What was your initial impression of him?"

"A bit of a joke, excuse my pun. Honestly, I really didn't care."

"So, the news never held an interest? I would say, I am slightly surprised," she confessed, looking back down at the bleak notepad. Grudgingly, she made a few notes.

"How so, Shirley?"

"Well, one in your previous status would have some – obligation to keep up with the news wouldn't they?" She turned her body, to catch his next response. He shrugged his shoulders and responded:

"I guess. Our paths rarely, if ever, crossed. Moreover, wasn't really the news I kept up with," he replied, a grin now hanging lopsidedly on his mouth. He really didn't care, did he? Well, he hadn't, not then.

"I see. I have an understanding though, that you met him here, not long after being admitted." He turned away from her again, continuing to walk around the room.

"Ah yes. Please appreciate that I am not the same man as I was then," he explained. With both their backs turned, Shirley let her façade drop slightly. Maybe she should ask for some leave, but then someone else would take Warren! That could and would not happen.

"Your encounter with him?"

"Yes, of course, darling, it is quite awkward to say the least. I think to this day, I will always be thankful of the mist."

"The mist?"

"I was in one of those despicable open shower rooms. I had thought I was alone but then I heard a cackling voice, accompanied by two gruff voices. To my surprise and horror, it was the Joker. In all his plain glory, he was to have his shower." White came around in to her view again, remaining standing in front of his chair. Though, he kept his eyes firmly away from hers. Her gaze was prying and she wouldn't admit it, but she was sitting on the edge of her seat. There was silence for a bit and she prayed he would continue. Prayed that he would tell her what the Joker had said to him.

"What did you say?" She managed to ask, clutching his notepad tightly.

"What did I say? Nothing at first. I might not have kept up with the mainstream news but I did know who the clown was," he explained. Now, he walked away from his chair, closer to her. Sliding back in to the chair, she tried to create some distance. He took no heed; in fact, he continued to close the distance between himself and the curly blonde haired doctor. Their legs were touching and for the life of her, she couldn't speak. Inwardly she was screaming at herself, "Get the guards!" That would ruin it, though. So even in a situation like this, she couldn't do it. "So Shirley, what do you think happened?"

"What – what do you mean?" Like a shattered vase, her mask came crumbling down. The bald, white, disfigured man in front of her nodded with what she guessed mockery anger.

"He leant in to me, with a crazed yellow smile," he spoke, as leant down in to Shirley, his hands supporting himself on the arms of her chair, "and he said 'you have to be the worst person I have ever met'." She, she hadn't lied? Transfixed by his gaze, she again couldn't speak. Why did this upset her? If the Joker, of all people, said that the man right in front of her was the _worst _person that he had ever met, what could she say? She couldn't believe it, though. The Joker was a maniac, an insane maniac that ridiculed death with a sickening joke. But this man? He was no saint, but he hadn't _killed_.

He stayed there, breathing on her heavily. Where could this conversation go? So many places but yet none. But not like this. Defiantly, she looked up at his face.

"Please remove yourself," she commanded in her cold tone. Warren just smirked. Slowly, he leaned back, rubbing his few fingers. How the hell had that happened? Logic swept in to her mind and she straightened her posture, observing White. With a dash of her hand, she was rapidly writing notes. Excluding certain parts of the interview though, of course. Warren in turn, observed her. Shirley could barely keep eye contact, a key in active listening. She fidgeted and changed her position often, no matter how _composed_ it may have looked.

"I find these times with you, Shirley, most exhilarating," he said.

"And why would that be?"

"Well, you are a pretty fascinating woman," he continued, again walking out of her sigh. Fascinating? That wouldn't be a word she would use. Logical, of course, fascinating? Not really. These interviews were getting harder and harder to do. The minutes would slowly ooze by and they would still be here. Now, what to say?

"Warren, have you ever met Batman?" Discount it, that's how to do it. Besides, she was still incredibly curious about the whole Dr. Carver incident. Out of all the crazies in Gotham, Batman was perhaps one of the hardest to unravel. She didn't know whether she liked him or disliked him. Lewis loved the guy, saying that in a city like this, you need someone just as crazy as the villains to save the day. Her mother couldn't stand him. She was in the middle though, no man's land. Any psychologist would be lying if they said they didn't want to meet him. She would never lie about that, but she'd never say anything about it to another soul.

"Once, from my memory," he confessed and Shirley wrote down some more notes.

"Do you wish to explain further?" She asked, trying to get him to continue.

"If you'd like me to, darling," he said from behind her. It was strange, to have a conversation like this, with them both facing opposite directions, in this kind of situation. Because in reality, she was talking to a _madman_.

"I would."

"Truthfully, his main focus was on Dr. Carver."

"But what about you? Was his attention completely diverted?"

"Why does it matter?" He snapped viciously, making her jump. Still, she dared not turn around. The state of the session was now _extremely_ fragile and it had been going so well! Shirley straightened her back but nearly jumped again. There, on both her shoulders was a grip. Physically it wasn't the strongest but it did keep her firmly in place. On her neck, she could feel warm breath, moving some of her loose hairs with each outtake of breath. In her lap, her hands were frozen - she was frozen! What could she do? Throw him back? There was no, no way she could explain _any_ of this. Besides, what if, what if she got somewhere? And that was enough for Shirley, enough means to justify the ends.

The stale and cold air-conditioned air in her room seemed to stand still and the few specks of dust swayed through the air, unnerving Shirley. His grip tightened and slid down to her upper arms, pulling her back further in to her chair.

"You know, my darling, I really can't stand it when you throw away our time on," he paused for a moment then continued speaking right in to her ear, "unimportant subjects."

"I – I – disagree," she stuttered, resisting the natural urge to start shaking. Adrenaline was pumping through her entire body and she felt like she could feel everything that was moving within her office.

"You do? I think it's hardly fair if we fritter away all this time only on me," he responded calmly, his hands now doing what she guessed was some kind of massage on her upper arms. With certain fingers and a thumb missing, its effect was not as comforting as he perhaps intended it to be. That, though, wasn't her main concern.

"Warren, these sessions are not for my benefit," she managed to say, her lips quivering on their own accord. What she had just said would have been believable if she wasn't trembling and he couldn't _feel_ her trembling.

"But how are you to learn more about me, to help, to benefit, to understand me if you give nothing in return?" He remarked fiercely, with each word he gripped her tighter.

"That's not how it works, Warren."

"Yes of course, there are rules, regulations, thing that you cannot and must not do with me," he quipped.

"I am glad to hear that you understand that."

"Then you aren't as special as I originally believed you to be," he replied dully and his hands slid off her arms. She let out a breath she had been holding but that was all the moves she made.

"What?" She breathed. His words had affected her more then she thought they would. But they had and the mere idea of not being special and original in his eyes was terrifying.

"Well anyone knows that to get what you want you have to break a few rules along the way and sacrifice a few things," he explained, from the other end of her office. What he said was valid and true, to an extent. When were the means too much? Too much to justify the goal, the ends? He was right, though. This wasn't a textbook world, where everyone followed the rules. Law most of the time kept the majority of people in line. But not everyone. However, didn't everyone, once in their life, slip past the rules? She was sure as hell Harley wasn't following the rules. In theory then, what would it matter if she broke some rules? To reach that goal, to conquer this man?

"Warren, you are indeed correct," she said carefully, as she rose from her chair. Slowly, she turned to face Warren, who was already looking at her with a peculiar expression. His eyes were wide, manic but blank, as if his own thoughts in his mind could not comprehend what she had just said. Then, his mouth stretched out in to a smile.

"Why Shirley, please forgive me for my previous words about your character, I was _wrong_." There, she thought, it was already working. She wanted to smile, hell, she wanted to dance! Sure, she was breaking some rules but the results!

"There is no issue, Warren," she said as she walked over to him.

"Ah, my gorgeous Shirley," he drawled, his eyes resting darkly on her. For a moment she hesitated, but the urge to succeed, conquer and most of all be right, was too strong. Now in close proximity to Warren, she conjured up the next few words.

"What would you like to ask me?" She hoped he understood that she didn't mean anything personal.

"What wouldn't I?" He chuckled, his eyes feasting upon her. Just because she had allowed herself to break rules didn't mean she felt at ease and in control. She was nervous and her hands felt clammy. She waited for him to continue.

"Well, let me see," pondered Warren, stepping closer to Shirley, "Let's start off with an easy one: seeing anyone right now?"

"Warren, nothing personal," she warned, stepping back; he matched her.

"Nothing personal? Take the fun out of it, why don't you!" He cried, throwing his arms up.

"What would you like to talk about?" She asked, wording her question differently this time.

"Is the weather quite alright for you?" He snapped, stepping closer to her.

"Maybe-" she tried to start talking again, to alleviate the situation but she was cut off.

"How about the news? Been pretty peaceful, hasn't it?" He snapped again, now extremely close to her.

"Warren-" she tried to speak again, now scared. It was stupid, why hadn't she just kept to the plan? Before she could mentally scold herself anymore, she felt a tight hold around her waist then suddenly found herself pushed up against Warren's chest. Too shocked to move, her hands remained rested against his chest and her mouth open. If things weren't bad enough, she felt warm breath near her neck again.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you darling," he apologized, as he toyed with her curls, "I really shouldn't do that to you, especially with all that is happening right now."

"Warren?" What the hell was he on about?

"Yes, it must be so hard, all the pressure of work and your father. How is he?" He continued to go on. Shirley then went cold.

"Remove, remove yourself," she said softly.

"Aw, you don't mean that, let's-" Warren began to talk again, in jokey tone.

"Remove yourself."

"From your lush fig-" he tried to speak again, his tone incredibly suggestive.

"Remove yourself!" She yelled, pulling herself backwards. Stumbling, she nearly fell to the ground but she refused to. Grasping the wall she panted, but could not look up at him. Her eyes were watering. There was no way she would or could let this man see her cry. "Rocco!"

And he was there in a dash. Still she didn't look up. She heard Warren as he was cuffed and as Rocco slowly pushed him out of the room. Right at the last minute though she looked up, to see Warren at the door. He was smiling, like his usual self. But when he caught her wet, red-eyed gaze he dropped it slightly.

Shirley grabbed a few tissues, preparing for the rest of the day. How could she let that, _that_ happen? Never in her life had she felt like causing self-harm, but now seemed like that perfect time for hitting her head. She had been in his arms! Did all psychologists go through this? Even if it was only once? That would make her feel so much better if they did. This was the real world though and she wasn't going to be cushioned. This was happening to Harley, but she was just an idiot. An idiot who welcomed it! But was she any better than her? Harley's words resurfaced in her mind and she couldn't help but feel the guilt pull her down. _Sugar, you are _obsessed_ with Sharky_, she had said. Well no more, she couldn't let it happen. She would still break the rules, that had proven something. But she would need and have to be in control. Her phone went off.

"Hello?"

"Babe!" Lewis?

"Um."

"Look, I know we haven't been talking but I can't do this 'silent' thing anymore." She looked at her desk, not sure about what to say. She was still upset about the other night but she did miss speaking to him.

"Well okay," she responded slowly.

"I'm getting out early today, so I should be at your place when you get home okay?"

"When did you get keys?"

"We got them copied a few weeks ago."

"Oh, yeah." Lewis's 'mate' had gone away for a week, with his girlfriend and for some inexplicable reason, he had made, _made_ Lewis stay at her apartment. Since then, that's how it had kind of been, in limbo. The keys though, were out of convenience.

"Yeah, anyways I'll see you then!"

"Sure," she replied and then hung up. Her brain and chest felt like a huge mess, nothing was being processed through her head. There was a little glimmer of excitement though, mixed with anxiety about seeing Lewis again. She was also eager to mend things, for some inexplicable reason. Now she could only hope that the remainder of the day would go quickly.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The rest of the day had _not_ gone as quickly as she had wanted it to. The funny thing was, she had made an effort to get out earlier, taking her work with her. Throughout the rest of the day she had managed to write down notes and some rough summaries for all her other patients, all except White. Whilst she had forced some more notes out, she was struggling to write down anymore. Anyhow, she had left early. And hit peek hour. The radio was on a peaceful classical station and she tried to not think too much about anything when the car wasn't moving, which was quite often.

She found it odd that Lewis hadn't called, but maybe he was also still feeling weird after the other night. Finally, she swung around to her apartment block. She ran - power-walked to the lift and waited for it to open. A Chinese couple walked out, the woman was her neighbor. Quickly, they walked past and there, for a fraction of a second, the woman looked upon her with utter horror. That was it though, as her boyfriend harshly pulled her along. Getting in the lift, she ignored the odd encounter.

A new wave of physical and mental exhaustion hit her as she approached her door. Unlocking it, she dropped her handbag and workbag on the kitchen counter. Flicking the lights on, she sighed. Lewis had to be in her bed. Even though they had been dating for months now, they hadn't slept together. Lewis didn't pressure her and she didn't pressure him. Maybe she could blame work, but she knew that was just an excuse. If they did, she really would be committing to him then. She had had casual sex in the past, when she had been in college but found it leaving her more empty and lonely then she desired to feel. Lewis wasn't a causal encounter though.

Walking in to her room she flicked the lights on and was about to scold him but found it empty. She looked around her room, nothing. On her windowsill sat the large bouquet of white roses. It was the part of the large bouquet she couldn't pull apart. It intricately tied together, looked beautiful and she really did like it. All the other roses were in vases around her apartment. Well, she thought, maybe he hit some traffic too? Slipping in to her shower, she was glad to feel her muscles relax. Dressed in a large t-shirt, with Gotham University's logo plastered on to it and baggy pajama pants, she felt much better.

Walking back in to the lounge room, she fell on to the couch. Damn those 'stylish' low back couches, she had bought a big, _high_ back one. Just as she shut her eyes, completely ready for an early evening nap, the door slammed open and she jumped up, falling off the couch. Turning her head around to the door, she couldn't believe who was standing there.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sorry to say that this really is just a filler chapter, but I strive to make them as interesting as possible. You know, as much as they can be. ****I missed some of my reviewers last chapter and it was sad to not see what they thought. Thanks to Effy x and west189! By the way, I don't know if I have said Lewis's last name before (don't think I have), so bear with me. I should really keep those character profiles. Thank you reviewers! I love you! Read and review. **_**Jazz**_

**P.S. Bear with me in this chapter! Ah, it'll be worth the wait for the next chapter!**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

Well, she did believe who was there. Just not the state they were in. Lewis was standing, barely, at the front door, beaten up. His face was littered with cuts and she could see some bruises blossoming. His body was in no better shape; though fully clothed, she could see he was in pain, just from standing there. Quickly, she lifted herself from the floor and dashed over to him.

"Lewis! What happened?" She asked quickly as she got him to support himself on her. Her heart was racing as she led him over to the couch and got him to sit down. She ran to the hallway and opened up the linen closet, pulling out old towels and blankets. Dashing back to him, she grabbed a pillow from one of the armchairs and rested it under his head. He hadn't said anything yet and she was worried. Dropping the blankets and towels, she ran to the bathroom. Jerking all the cabinet doors open she found a small first aid kit. Before she had been accepted in to Arkham, she had had to have first aid training. It wasn't a first aid license but it was something. Her memory failed her a little bit, but she would try her best; she would do her best.

Lewis had laid his head back against the pillow and his eyes were shut in pain. On her way past the kitchen she grabbed two bottles of water. Carefully sitting down next to him, she snatched up a small towel and one of the bottles of water. Slowly, she began to clean the cuts on his face. They were messy, but not too bad. There was one on the right side of his jaw that was deep, though, and even with an untrained eye she knew it needed stitches. She couldn't stitch it up and she wanted to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. Reaching down in to her kit, she picked up a bottle of antiseptic liquid. Getting some cotton buds, she placed one on top of the bottle and turned the bottle. After a moment she applied it to some of the cuts. Even though his face looked clean, she wasn't taking _any_ risks. She repeated this process until she was satisfied. The deep cut on his jaw though, was still bleeding so she grabbed a larger towel and applied pressure.

Still, he said nothing. He had only hissed when she had been cleaning up the deep cut. It wouldn't come as a surprise if he was in too much pain to talk. The cut on his jaw looked like it had been tugged open by something and roughly, too. After about five minutes, she felt him pull her hands and the towel away from his jaw.

"Lewis?"

"Thank you," he rasped, his voice sounded gravelly and dry. He motioned towards the unopened bottle of water and she readily handed it back to him. He flipped the lid off and began to drink.

"Don't mention it," she replied softly. He didn't stop drinking until he had guzzled about two thirds of the bottle, and then he sighed. "What happened?"

"Remember how I called you today?" He rasped, looking at her. She nodded and noticed that the skin on his knuckles was red and torn away; she needed to clean them. Leaning down towards a new towel and water, he grabbed her by the shoulders and slowly pulled her back up. "Well, I was walking out the door with all my notes and books when you hung up. Then I was grabbed by these two tall, big guys.

"They told me to grab the stuff that had fallen to the ground and walk quietly with me," he explained, his grip still on her shoulders. "Now I would have told them to fuck off but I felt something cold pressed against my back."

"And?" she said; now wasn't the time to say too much. A gun and two guys pulling Lewis on was not your average hold up for a wallet.

"We walked over to a black van in an alley and got in. When we got back out, I knew we were in the Narrows and a really dodgy spot," he spoke but had to stop near the end, his hands left her shoulders and he steadied himself on the couch.

"I don't know how long I was there, in that back alley, but they beat the shit out of me. There was this other guy, but I couldn't see him. He _talked_ to me the whole time."

"What did he say?" Lewis's head dropped for a moment, then he lifted it back up.

"He talked about you."

"Me?" She responded with confusion, her hands wringing in her lap. Not only had they taken Lewis to the Narrows and beat him but they knew who she was?

"Yes, you. He kept saying that I was to keep away from you or," he continued to explain but trailed off. His gaze now rested behind her, not looking at anything in particular.

"Or what Lewis?" She asked, worried. Her heart was pumping her chest and her thoughts were muddled.

"I would be killed, by him." Shirley didn't know what to say, but she was freaked out. This scared her more than Greg had, when she had found out he had been brutally murdered. Lewis had been taken in to a van, beaten up in the Narrows and she assumed dumped there. All with a death threat. All involving her. Why? Then she realized Lewis was looking at her, glaring at her.

"Lewis?"

"Shirley, I need you tell me what you have been hiding," he said darkly, with a tone she had never heard Lewis use before.

"Hiding? What are you talking about?" she said back coldly. If he thought she had anything to do with this, he might just deserve a slap.

"Now is _not_ the time, just tell me," he retorted, his gaze extremely fierce and angry.

"Lewis, I understand that you are angry right now, but I have not done anything," she explained calmly, using her detached tone. It did nothing to improve the situation or Lewis, but only contributed to his anger.

"Then why, why was I dragged in to an alley, beaten up and told that I would be killed—fucking killed!—if I came near _my girlfriend_!" He yelled, jumping from his seat. The deep cut in his chin began to bleed again. He swayed slightly on the spot and for now, she decided to try and drop this topic. He needed to get to a hospital.

"I don't know. Look, let me take you to the hospital," she responded and tried to calm him down but he pushed her hands away. With a sway, he finished his bottled water and went to the kitchen. Slowly, she followed him. But she didn't find him guzzling away more water, she found him looking at her work papers. It was Warren's, she knew it.

"This is the guy, isn't it?" He asked, looking up at her for a moment as he flicked through the thick folder.

"Look Lewis, let's go." No other folder was as thick as Warren's, not even close.

"No, this is him, isn't it?" He asked again.

She couldn't let him get any more upset, so she played dumb – she didn't expect much. "Who's he?"

"White! The one you slave on." She was hit back; _slave_ on? What was he going on about? Her focusing and applying herself was not slaving. She had worked damn hard to get where she was now.

"That I slave on? He is one of my patients."

"No, he's not. You have said so yourself," he reminded her and realization dawned upon her. She had, in her exact words she had said _'White is not a patient, Lewis'_. In a way, he was more than that. Lewis didn't understand what she meant. Lewis had probably been hit on the head as well; he needed to get to the hospital.

"Let's go." She grabbed a few supplies for him, for the trip. Slipping on her black jacket and some ballet flats, they left the building. She couldn't say it out loud, but she was thankful that the hospital closest to her was not the one that her father was at. Lewis grumbled a bit, but let her lead him to her car. Once inside, she drove as quickly as she lawfully could to the nearest hospital. Lewis sat in the front seat, with a cloth pushed up against his jaw.

"You know, I heard something," he began to say, in a suspicious tone.

"I often hear as well Lewis," she quipped, focusing on the road.

"Something about a guard from Arkham being murdered," he continued, looking at her. Stopping at set of traffic lights, she turned to him with her eyes downcast.

"Please Lewis, let's not do this," she pleaded, her voice just above a whisper.

"No Shirley, dammit, please, why didn't you tell me?"

"How did you find out?"

"One of my mate's best buds just packed up left not long after it happened; he was working on the case. I wish you had told me."

"What could you have done?" She bit back, speeding up the road.

"I could have been there for you, at least I would have understood."

"You can't understand."

"I can't, can I? I don't know Shirley, getting a death threat and all, I don't think I would understand, would I?" He retorted, still looking at her. She could see his angry gaze out of the corner of her eye. The towel muffled his voice but she could still understand him. Memories of Greg resurfaced in her mind but she forced them back down; now was definitely not the time to have a break down.

"Look Lewis, right now my main concern is you, okay?" She hated the way she sounded, so unlike herself. Weak and not in-control of her emotions.

"I heard you even talked to the bloke." He didn't drop it though, he was determined.

"Who?"

"Joseph Jenkins." He was the one that had left? She had guessed it had been someone else, but Joe? Gone?

"Joe? He's gone?"

"So you know him?

"Yes of course, Lewis! I only conversed with him about eight or so times and most of those times were over the phone," she exclaimed in response, roughly turning a corner. Sometimes, sometimes he just invoked a rage within her she didn't know she had or could even possess.

"Sorry, Shirley," he mumbled, looking out his window. She sighed, she had no right to get angry at him when this had happened to him. But she was still angry, so she held her mouth closed. Joe was gone? Last time she had been talking to him, in person, he had seemed to be going so well with the case. His partner, not so much. Maybe his family lived outer state? Still, something like Greg, the case, seemed like something big to just…drop. The rest of the trip was filled in silence, but it was not long until they arrived at a small hospital.

Helping Lewis out of the car, they stumbled slowly over to the hospital. She left Lewis in the waiting area and went over to the one of the nurses who was looking at a folder. She had a tall willowy figure and a very short red bob.

"Excuse me?" Shirley asked in her usual, flat tone.

"Yes?" The nurse snapped back with the small coldness, not looking up.

"My," she paused but continued quickly, "my boyfriend was attacked about two hours ago and he has a deep cut on his jaw-"

"Two hours ago? Why didn't you bring him in sooner?" The nurse looked up, a frown etched in to her forehead. Shirley was _not_ the mood to be scolded, especially by a woman she didn't know.

"Well I don't-" She was not going to cope this, but she didn't have to opportunity to say anything in response as the nurse put her folder down on the counter top.

"Honey, is that him over there?" The nurse pointed over to Lewis, patiently waiting in his chair. Shirley nodded and the nurse walked over. Without another word, the nurse quickly trailed over to him, pulling him along. He must have priority, she thought as she glanced around the room. She went to follow Lewis but the nurse put a hand up.

"I'm going with him," Shirley said, glaring at the nurse. Man, she felt a headache coming on.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Slott doesn't require _your_ assistance, but Nurse Rosie Kestrel would like to have a word with you," the red headed nurse, _May_, Shirley noticed on her card attached to a lanyard around her neck, replied. She wanted to say something back to Nurse _May_ but the slim woman was already off, following Lewis who was with another nurse. Shirley ran a hand through her curls then realized that she was still in her baggy pajamas. Lovely, she thought.

Nurse Kestrel was back in the waiting room, behind the counter top, typing on a computer. The nurse was large, with silver curly hair. Shirley didn't want to talk to another nurse; she wanted to, well, just to be there with Lewis. Before she could utter some kind of greeting to Nurse Kestrel, the woman was already giving her orders.

"You with Mr. Slott? Good, I need you to sign these papers," she ordered, handing Shirley some clipboards with a fair few papers clipped to them. "Once you have completed them, Miss?"

"Miss. Shirley Gibbs," she snapped back, grabbing the clipboards roughly from the nurse's hands.

"Well Miss. Gibbs, once those are complete I need you to talk to the police," the nurse ordered, looking back down at her computer screen.

"Why?"

"Mr. Slott was attacked, wasn't he?" The nurse gave her an odd look. Nothing was making sense today, first White now her boyfri- Lewis being beaten up and getting a death threat; Shirley was a mess. Mixed with the anxiety and worry she had for her dad, she was having trouble processing anything. She had never had this kind of anxiety or pressure in her life, not in her childhood, not in college. How did people manage? She kept wondering. The questions were numerous and repetitive, but she continued to tick and cross. There were some questions she couldn't answer, so she skipped them. She could only sign so many of the papers; she wasn't legally attached to Lewis.

"I have completed as many of the papers and questions as I can," Shirley said, as she handed the clipboards back to the nurse. The nurse waved her hand; she was on the phone.

"Yeah, she's right here, just let me transfer you to another room so you can talk to her," the nurse said quickly as she typed and signed a few papers behind the counter. The phone clicked down on to her desk and she began to speak quickly again to Shirley.

"Walk down there," she said, pointing down the end of the waiting room, "then take a right, first door on your left, pick up the phone."

"Anything else?" She asked as she placed the clipboards on top of the counter.

"You're bloody lucky, that's a detective waiting on that line for you. They transferred me straight to him when I mentioned _your_ name." Shirley didn't even bother to respond, but she trailed down to the private room. There was an unsettling feeling in her abdomen and she felt nervous; why was there a detective waiting for her? Shouldn't she just talk to one of the policemen? Opening the door she stepped in, the light automatically turned on. Shutting the door behind her, she slipped in to one of the three seats in the small room. They surrounded a small table, with a phone sitting in the middle. Hesitantly, she picked the phone up.

"Hello?"

"Shirley Gibbs, been a while!" That voice sounded familiar, she thought.

"Who is this?"

"Detective. Tsui, David," he chuckled. It was off-putting to say the least. Lewis had been attacked and the detective on the other line was acting like they were old friends. She remembered him all right.

"Detective Tsui, Nurse Kestrel said you had some questions for me?" These rooms were probably for situations like this, when someone was hurt badly or sick, really sick. She felt a flash of pain in her chest and held back her tears. Lewis was fine and her dad was fine, they would both be fine.

"Ah yes, I do. About Mr. Slott?" He said in a light-hearted tone.

"Yes, that is his name," she replied, making a jab at Detective Tsui.

"Did Mr. Slott say where this attack happened?" He questioned her.

"He just got a temporary job at City Hall, for his PhD. He was leaving when he was grabbed by some men and taken in to a black van."

"Did your boyfriend know where he was taken to?" She cringed at the 'boyfriend', but just told herself to get over it right now.

"He wasn't sure when he got out, but he thinks he was in a back alley in the Narrows," she continued to explain. Detective Tsui asked an array of questions and she felt like she answering another one of those forms. She found it odd that no one had come in to check up on her. How long was this meant to go on for? Shit, she wasn't the one that had been attacked! All she had to go on with was what Lewis had told her and she didn't know how reliable that was, he had taken a few blows to the head.

When she told Detective Tsui about the threat though, he got extremely exanimate of her. The way he talked and the questions he asked made Shirley wonder if he was even interested in what had actually happened to Lewis. "Detective Tsui?"

"Yes?"

"I'm leaving, Lewis can talk to you as soon as he can."

"That shouldn't be necessary, I have gotten enough information from you." The feeling in her abdomen worsened and now she really wanted to leave the room.

"He was the one that was attacked though. I wasn't even there," she noted to him.

"Miss. Gibbs, I have one more question for you," he replied, ignoring what she had just said.

"What?" She spoke harshly. Who knew how long she had been on the phone to this guy? She needed to see if Lewis was okay, no one had come in at all. It was like she had been completely deserted.

"Your boyfriend has had his life threatened—_threatened_—if he goes near _you_."

"I am aware of that."

"Wouldn't you say that you are endangering him right now by staying with him?" He observed.

"Detective Tsui, I am leaving," she barked in to the phone and slammed it back down in to the table. Who the hell did he think he was? Telling her that she was endangering Lewis? Weren't the police supposed to be doing their job? Questions buzzed in her head and Shirley really felt like having a lie down. What was happening to her? She was _always_ calm and collected. Right now, she wanted to know how Lewis was and have a sleep. After that, then she could deal with all this shit. She made her way back out to the waiting area and walked up to Nurse Kestrel. The nurse looked up; she sighed.

"Jen! Can you take Miss. Gibbs to Mr. Slott?" Nurse Kestrel called out to a short, Hispanic looking woman.

"Sure," the small nurse replied, motioning for Shirley to follow her into a medium sized room. There was a small station in the middle with doctors and nurses talking and on computers. The room was filled with about eight beds and Lewis was on one. Ignoring the small nurse, she swiftly walked over to Lewis.

"Shirley," he slurred, smiling stupidly. There was a bandage on his jaw and his jacket was removed. Before she even thought about it, his hand was in her hands and she gripping them tightly.

"Miss. Gibbs?" She turned to see a pale middle aged man with a mop of brown hair, she assumed him to be Lewis's doctor.

"Yes?"

"Your boyfriend luckily had no serious damage, but the cut on his jaw will leave a scar." Shirley not only felt like a mess now, but a shitty mess. Lewis was going to have a scar and it was because of her. How it was because of her, she didn't know. But it still made her feel like shit.

"Can I take him home?"

"He's got a mild concussion, but he should be fine to go home. He should rest for at least two days before exerting himself too much. Keep an eye on him and if anything happens bring him back here." After leaving the hospital she drove Lewis and herself back to her apartment.

"You know, I have never seen so much emotion come from you, actually not once before-"

"Lewis, just look out the window."

"As I was saying," he continued to speak, his words slurred. They would have numbed his chin. She remembered when she was young, she had had a tooth removed and the old dentist had accidently put the needle too close to her bottom lip when numbing her gum. She had drooled for three hours.

"Shirley?"

"Yes?" She quickly looked over at him for a moment, to see him smile softly.

"Thank you." She gave him a small smile and he beamed even more.

"Don't worry about it, okay." When they got back to her apartment, she set Lewis up in her bed, with all the clean blankets and pillows she could find. Her next trip to the laundry was going to be a long, _long_ one. When she finished setting him up on the bed, she told him she would be on the couch.

"Why?"

"Because you have the bed," she responded, rolling her eyes.

"You can be so stupid sometimes, for a psychologist," he chuckled, still with the slight slur in his words. She crossed her arms, not impressed. "Come here." He motioned towards the spare space on his right. Standing there, she faltered. He continued to pat the spare space and eventually she softly sat down next to him. He reached out to her pulled him right up against his side. She rested her head against his shoulder as he trailed his hand up and down her spine. Her eyelids were heavy and she was ready to slip off, when he spoke again. His voice rumbled through his chest, the vibrations woke her up.

"I want you to leave Arkham."

"What – why?" She stumbled, looking up at him.

"Just leave there, please," he repeated, looking firmly at her.

"Lewis, I am not going to drop my job just because you say I am to." She pushed herself away from him and sat up.

"I don't like it and you always bring massive amounts of work home. Hell, it's killing our sex life."

"We don't have one." That hurt more then she let on. Sometimes she felt guilty for always pushing it out of the way. She just didn't feel ready for something so emotionally heavy.

"Exactly! That's the point! And besides, are you even enjoying your time there?"

"Of course, why else would I work there?"

"You could get a job somewhere else. Somewhere your work doesn't also become your personal life."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that your work life and personal life are not two separate things!" Shirley glared at him. What did he know? He was still in university!

"I knew what I was doing when I applied for a job there."

"And I am asking you to re-evaluate it now, things are different."

"Because I am seeing you?" She asked. This is why she had never wanted to get in to a really deep relationship. She didn't need romance to get on in her life; the accomplishments from her career were enough. Weren't they? The thought echoed in her mind. She really liked Lewis and she wanted to make him happy. But she also wanted to be happy, confident and independent.

"Well that seems to be just it, doesn't it?"

"Lewis, just rest," she said, trying to soothe him.

"You are going to get hurt."

"Why? Cause you did?"

"Yes. Shirley, maybe you don't understand. I got a death threat, a _death _threat, because I am with you." This wasn't happening, this was not happening, Shirley said in her head. The gravity of what had happened to Lewis had not fully hit Shirley yet and the more they argued, the more her head hurt.

"Your point?" She replied, reaching a hand up to her head.

"Imagine what they could do to you!" He cried.

"How is this linked to Arkham?" She groaned.

"I don't know if it is, but I am sure as hell not taking any chances."

"Lewis, what does my job have to do with this?"

"A guard was murdered, a guard that you worked with!"

"Greg lived in the Narrows!" She yelled, throwing her arms out. She didn't want to admit that to an extent, he was right. He was right, Greg had been murdered. Now Lewis had gotten a death threat involving her. The roses on the windowsill felt like another reminder of what was happening.

"And I live here, your point?"

"Lewis, do you have any idea how hard I have worked to get to where I am? To get a patient like Warren?" There, she had said it. As soon as she had said it though, she regretted it. This was not a path she wanted Lewis to go near.

"Warren?"

"Mr. White, I mean," she corrected.

"Why did you use his first name?"

"I'm sorry! Just, look, let's go to sleep."

"No way, I might have a massive headache, but we are doing this right now."

"No."

"Yes. See there is a great example, this White. You start using his first name too often and you are _going_ to get attached."

"You're analyzing me? I am the psychologist."

"Then realize what you are doing! What is happening to you!" He yelled, trying to get some reason in to her.

"It's my problem, not yours."

"You are my problem," he said, but mumbled the rest; she hadn't caught what he had said.

"Pardon?"

"I love you." Those were three words she only ever heard come from two people: her parents. Did he really? She really wanted to sleep on the couch now; this was too much for her. Her brain was in overload - she _had_ to sleep, now.

"You aren't going to say anything?" What the hell could she say? I love you too? She didn't, but she wasn't far off. She groaned, she didn't know. That wasn't something she could just easily reply to.

"I don't know."

"If you go back there, I know you are going to be hurt. Something is going to happen."

"Arkham is one of the most secure prisons and asylums in the country."

"Shirley, the Joker is there. The Joker, never mind all the other mad shits," he stated harshly, not accepting anything she was saying. This whole argument was illogical. He was recovering from a mild concussion and she was, well, right now her head was one big mess. Sliding off the bed, she went to walk out the door, but her phone began to ring from another room. Slowly, she made her way to the kitchen and found her handbag. Looking through the bag she pulled it out and saw that it was a number she didn't have in her contact list.

"Hello?" All she could hear were blaring alarms and muffled voice – it sounded like the automated voice at…Arkham?

"Dr. Gibbs?" She heard a familiar, accented voice speak loudly.

"Dr. Westler?"

"Dr. Gibbs I need you to come to Arkham, now," Dr. Westler said loudly through the phone. The alarms were loud and she had to hold her phone away from her ear for a moment.

"Why?" Shirley said loudly, so Dr. Westler could hear her.

"Dr. Gibbs I do not have much time. I need you to come in now, your presence is required," the doctor asked again, sounding urgent.

"Why are there alarms?"

"The Joker has escaped." That was all the doctor said before the line went dead. Her ear throbbed and she had trouble mustering what she had just been told. The Joker had escaped.

"Shirley, what's wrong?" Lewis called from the bedroom. This would not go down well, especially with the argument they had been having. But lying would get her nowhere and make it look like she had something to hide when she didn't have something to hide. She put her phone back in her handbag then walked back to the bedroom.

"Lewis, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I know you are under a lot-" He looked relieved and motioned for her to join him again on the bed.

"No, I'm sorry I have to go."

"Wait, what?"

"I have to go to Arkham"

"At midnight?"

"Yes." Thoughts buzzed around in her muddled mind and her headache worsened; she would have to grab some really strong painkillers before she left.

"Why?"

"The Joker has escaped."

"No, you are not leaving this room," he said forcibly, making a move to get up, but quickly fell back in to the bed.

"I have to!"

"Why? You might as well sign your life off."

"Call me if anything happens," she said as she grabbed clothes from her wardrobe. Who knew what state Arkham was in! These seven months had been pretty much fine, excluding Greg. But if those alarms were any indication, it didn't sound good. Lewis was telling her she was mental, just like her patients if she went there. She couldn't ignore it, though; she had to be there. What if other patients had escaped? What if Warren had escaped? There was no more discussion. She was going to Arkham, right now.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry that this is late! I've been attached to my PS3 and started my final year at high school. The end of this chapter might be confusing but that is how I intended it to be. I slipped a book title in to this chapter; it's a book by Stephan King (Since there are so many, here's the year it was released in:1990). It's the only one that I have ever read and I hated it when I had to return it back to the library - unfinished. I really should read more of his books. Anyways, find it if you can! Love, love to my reviewers, you make my world go round. Read and review. **_**Jazz**_

**The Jackel: Ah the statue, you hidden the beast away? Sorry about this bloody delay – how are you?**

**P.S. This chapter had been re-written **_**a lot**_**, I really hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such are owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

"You cannot be serious. You know, you don't have to go." Yes, she did. What did Lewis think he could do? He was in more danger then she was. She had slipped into a pair of her comfiest jeans and a dark purple, long sleeved top with her black jacket and sneakers. Quickly she tied up her messy hair into a loose bun. Grabbing her bag she checked she had everything. Food, that was all she was being able to process in her head right now. Simple, easy words. Running to the kitchen she grabbed some bars and an apple, with a bottle of water. Peeking in her bag again, she saw some cheap perfume and deodorant. The beginning of a headache started to make itself known; perfect timing. Right now she wasn't sure how long she was going to be there, so she was at least going to take a few things to make sure her stay was easier.

Painkillers, she grabbed those too.

Right before she ran out the door, she skidded to a stop. Making her way back to the bedroom, she saw Lewis there, looking at the roses.

"You put them in your room?" He said, not looking at her. She went up to him and softly turned his head to her. His gaze still diverted from her face. Carefully she leaned down and kissed him on the lips. He grabbed her roughly and pulled her in to his lap. Shirley had _not_ planned the kiss to go like this, but for a moment she went along with it. Then she pushed him away, breathing heavily.

"I'll see you later," she said as she got up from his lap. He grabbed on to her hand though, not pulling her back but just stopping her, making her look down at him.

"Be careful, okay?" He pleaded softly, grasping her hand tightly.

"It would illogical to do otherwise." The trip to Arkham was quick, quicker than it was in the morning. There were still cars out and about, it was Gotham after all. When she got to the familiar road though, it was full of flashing lights, sirens and people, heaps of people. The media was already there, setting up their room, slowly and amazingly, she made her way up to the staff gate. She was stopped though, not only by Arkham guards but also by some policemen.

"Miss, no one is allo-" Before the policeman could finish, she had her card whipped out the window for him to see. He nodded his head and called out for the gate to be opened. She drove in to the car park and parked her car. Now, where to go? There was staff dashing around everywhere. Westler. Start there. Holding on firmly to her handbag she dashed, like the other staff, through the hallways and corridors. Getting to Dr. Westler's office was hard and upon seeing all the people outside, she wondered how the woman had managed to make time to call her.

Pushing past the staff and policemen she forced her way in to Westler's office. It was just as bad outside her office as it was on the inside. Westler was talking quickly to a policeman who appeared to be extremely angry but couldn't slip a word in. A nodded his head and shoved Shirley out of the way. People were sitting around some of Westler's desks, frantically talking to each other and some had laptops out.

"Dr. Gibbs, come here quickly," she heard Dr. Westler call out to her, over the noise and mayhem. It was funny how this woman, Dr. Westler, could calm her. Her voice was cold and detached but Shirley found it slightly amusing how even in a situation like this, she still kept herself levelheaded. "I had expected you to be here earlier. I called you at four past midnight. But never mind."

"What can I do?" Shirley asked. She wished she had taken those painkillers before she had left now, her headache was getting worse. Dr. Westler looked down at her computer for a moment then looked back up.

"Find Dr. Quinzel," Westler ordered and sat down in her seat, looking at her monitor.

"Shouldn't a police officer do that?" Shirley asked. Harley was the Joker's psychologist. Wouldn't she be the first person the police would go to? That's what Shirley thought, anyways.

"Yes, they have demanded to but I want _you_ to go and get her for me.

"Why?"

"Because she will listen to you." After that, Dr. Westler was occupied by a new influx of guards and policemen. Why weren't they with the Warden? Shirley stopped herself, she didn't want to imagine what that place was like now. If Dr. Westler's office was chaotic, the Warden's had to be like hell. Not to mention the media that was just dying to get in. He'd have to confront them soon and assure Gotham that everything was okay.

Well, what better way to start off with then her office? Surprisingly, as she made her way to Harley's office, it was pretty much deserted. You could still hear the alarms going off, but compared to where she had been previously it was relatively calm. There was a light on in her office, she could see the light shooting out from underneath the door, but she couldn't hear anything. She knocked on the door and waited. She knocked again, louder this time. And again. And again. Then she tried calling out her name, her _nickname_. But there was no response. Shirley sighed, she really needed those painkillers, but it would have to wait.

She checked all the staffrooms, but they were all jam-packed. Not one of them even had someone that looked like Harley inside. What good could she do? It's not like they were even friends. There was this tendency though, for Harley to get somewhat attached to her. Out of pure desperation, she started to look outside. Then she found her, sitting in her favourite spot, right near Arkham Mansion. There were still people running around but Harley had found a seat and looked glum.

"Hey," Shirley said in the nicest tone she could muster. Harley just continued to look down though, playing with her glasses, in her lap. "Harley?"

"What!" She hissed, flashing her head up at Shirley. Tears were all over face; her cheeks, eyes and nose were all red. And her nose was running as well. It wasn't a pretty picture. Lucky for Harley, her mascara hadn't run too much. Sighing, Shirley took a seat next to the sobbing blonde. Reaching in to her handbag she managed to find a tissue. Harley mumbled a 'thanks' and cleaned her face up before giving her nose a good, old blow.

"Harley, what happened?" Shirley for once kind of felt something for Harley, aside from annoyance and dislike. Harley was obsessed with the man and worked all around the clock. Her obsession was wrong, but it couldn't be ignored. And to what kind of work she did, Shirley wasn't sure. She could understand, to some degree what Harley was feeling. Failure. Shirley could only imagine how bad it actually felt though.

"He's gone! Gone!" She cried and fell in to Shirley's chest. Awkwardly, she patted her back. Her top was sure to have some dark stains when Harley lifted her head next.

"Harley, come on, let me take –" She started, moving to get up.

"No! I don't want to talk to any of them, they won't understand," she wailed, latching on to Shirley even tighter, pulling her back down. Shirley tried to move herself out of the woman's grip but soon found it was like iron.

"Understand what?" She sighed, giving up on moving away. Letting her hands drop to her lap. Harley sighed, followed by a wet sniffle and leaned her head against Shirley's shoulder. Her arms wound tightly around Shirley's middle, with her arms trapped within the grip.

"He's amazing you know that? He's really somethin'. I know he acts a lil' strange but he can be so sweet." Shirley felt a sharp pang in her chest and looked down at the blonde, who was staring dreamily up at her.

"Harley, he's an insane mass-murder," she responded slowly, hoping that it might miraculously get through to Harley. She knew better though. There was a gleam in her eyes that frightened her. It made Harley appear manic, and not just for being the annoying blonde she was. It was unsettling, particularly after what she had just said. Harley seemed unfazed by what Shirley had said.

"I know that! Like Sharky, Shirls, he's not just a patient," she reasoned, her fingers digging in to Shirley's arms. It didn't hurt at first but when she didn't say anything, Harley's fingers dug in deeper. Calmly, Shirley tried to pull away but Harley wouldn't have it. Shirley was surprised: this woman had strength and now she was beginning to become afraid. What was wrong with Harley?

"I don't know what you mean," she said calmly, continuing to attempt to pull away. In an unexpected move, Harley let go of her and threw her arms up, wailing again. With not a minute to waste, Shirley got off the seat and stood in front of Harley and with some space. Then Harley's head slowly turned back to her, cheeks again wet.

"Shirls, I don't care, I _understand_, that's," she spoke then sniffled, a new wave of tears cascading down her cheeks, "why you can understand how I feel."

"Harley what are you feeling?" It was an earnest question, she had no idea. She had this feeling though, that she didn't want to know. This side of Harley that she was seeing was disturbing. But why would _she_ understand? What did she and Harley have in common? Aside from working at Arkham and being psychologists, there was nothing! Well, they were both blondes, but that meant nothing. How in the world would she understand?

"Everything and nothin'! It's so confusing," She groaned, fiddling with her glasses in her hands. In the pit of her stomach, she felt something. It grew and she could literally feel something grabbing her, on the inside. The blood slowly dropped from her face and a little slimmer of realization made itself known. It couldn't be verbalized though, no. It couldn't. She had to get away, away from Harley.

"I know Harley, working here can get-" She tried to say something, but the new feeling within her made her mind foggy. Harley sharply cut her off.

"No! You understand! I know you do!" She cried again, peering desperately at her.

"I don't, Harley, just let me take you to Dr. Westler."

"Dr. Westler?" Her tone changed and Shirley went for it.

"Yes, come on I'll take you there," Shirley confirmed, pleased in Harley's change of tone.

"Dr. Westler?" She repeated, and then she giggled. It was soft at first, but then it grew and erupted in to loud laughs. Harley fell to the ground, landing on her bum, and then rolled to her side. She was laughing so loudly that it was beginning to draw the attention of guards and policemen walking by. Racing her head around she smiled at some of the guards and policemen to ward them off. They frowned but kept on walking to wherever they had to go. Shirley dropped her gaze back to laughing mess on the stone ground.

"Harley!" She hissed, not wanting to touch the woman. How could she understand this mess?

"Oh, oh Shirls, you are such a good laugh! Whatchi' say? Go fetch Dr. Quinzel? Ha ha ha!" The laughs rose in volume and in combination with her headache, she was stuttering mentally in what to do next.

"Come on, -"

"How longs you gonna play this?" Harley said suddenly, her laughs dying down. In its place, she had a sinister tone.

"Play _what_?"

"I know your little secret." Harley smiled darkly, looking up at her from the ground. Though she was on the ground, covered in dirt and completely disheveled, she felt intimidated. The only little secret Shirley had was more like a dirty indulgence. When she would be at the local supermarket, which thankfully was small, she would flick through the celebrity and gossip magazines. With the turn of each page, she would mentally say 'how could anyone read this'. And as quickly as she had picked them up, she would put them back down. But she could tell Harley didn't mean that. No, what she meant was something Shirley couldn't even think about.

"Oh, you know it, too," she continued to say slowly and darkly. Rising from the ground, she circled Shirley. Shirley dropped her head, how could this be happening? Like a child, she wanted to run away from this situation but she couldn't. And even the hope of running away was slashed away when she felt a tight grip on her arms, where the bruises were forming from before. A small whimper came from her mouth and she couldn't move away.

"Was it like this?" Harley breathed in her ear and her tight grip moved down her arms. This time, a cry came from her mouth as Harley's grip ran over the bruises. Then her arms went to her waist and she felt Harley lay her chin on her shoulder.

"See Shirls, I might not know _exactly_ what has been happening," she said clearly this time, right next to her ear. Shirley was glued to the spot and her lips were stuck together. Her mind was racing though, what was Harley doing? "But when I see you work late, when I see you sit by yourself, when you avoid all human contact and when I look in your eyes," she continued to say, her words becoming breaths against her ear.

"What?" Shirley said softly, barely above a whisper. Then she felt Harley's lips, against the shell of her ear. She could feel her smile, and then whisper something right in her ear.

"I know, about you and _him_."

With a sudden burst of energy, Shirley hauled herself violently out of Harley's arms. Heart racing and chest panting heavily, she turned back to Harley.

"Don't cry!" Harley smiled, handed her a tissue from her pocket. It was an insult, the final little cherry to what she had just done. Raising a shaky hand to her left cheek she felt that it was indeed, wet with tears. Now she couldn't say anything, not even a collected response. No, Harley had defiantly won. And she had lost poorly. With a sinister little smile, that matched her tone, Harley said one more thing.

"Look, since it bothers ya' so much, I'll go to the hag, okay?" She smiled and nodded, not waiting for any kind of response from Shirley. With a little sway of her hips, Harley walked away, in the direction Shirley had just come. Stumbling over to the chair Harley had just been on, she let out deep breath. Bringing her legs up to her chest, she hugged them. For a moment, she shock silently with tears following freely in to her black jacket. And just like Harley had said herself, Shirley was feeling everything and nothing at all. It was an onslaught on her, inside. Her head was now aching even worse than before and her chest had a dull pain. She felt weak, a sobbing mess that couldn't even move.

Thoughts of her mum, her dad, Lewis and lastly, Warren flashed through her mind. The last time she had seen her mum, she could see the rims of her eyes were wet but she refused to cry, not now. When she did, she'd quickly dab a tissue to her eyes whilst her father wasn't looking and grip his hand. At hospital, her dad was still watching his baseball games but sometimes he would just black out and fall asleep. It was getting worse and she felt something ominous approaching. Lewis scared her, right to the bone. Someone had beaten him up and threatened him, all about her! She felt no better than the people who had beaten him up for keeping him in her home.

But Warren.

Out of everything she was feeling, he was the most confusing. What Harley had said had caught her out and she couldn't collect herself up this time. Harley had the upper hand. This time she couldn't discount the woman. No, she had taken Harley for a fool. Yes, she might be dumb at times but she was nowhere near as dumb as Shirley had first believed. She couldn't understand what Harley was feeling. She wouldn't. Warren was, was, her patient – he wasn't. To say that he was would be like calling herself a fool, a clown. Not once in her life had she felt so small, like a tiny fish in the deepest reaches of the sea.

Rubbing her face and then giving it a good slap, she began to assemble herself. Rising from the seat, she looked over at Gotham, lights shining bright. There was Batman's signal, right up in the sky. She hoped, like she had never before, that he would catch the Joker. At least then she wouldn't feel like she was at work all the time. Getting a fresh tissue, she dabbed her face. There had to be at least a million other productive things she could be doing right now, instead of wallowing in her own self-pity. What to do, though? She could go back to Dr. Westler's office but she knew that if she saw Harley again, well, she didn't want to think about it that much. Wait, had anyone else got out? It would be expected that the police would keep their attention laid on the Joker. Aaron Cash, he'd be busy but she knew that she had to do something right now.

Checking herself over one last time, she walked with great haste over to Intensive Treatment. This probably wasn't the best place to be, actually, now that she thought of it. It would be selfish to try and talk to Cash. Where she was heading to could possibly be the heart of all the chaos. As she approached his office in the Cell Block transfer, she could see that a temporary camp of sorts had been made up outside Cash's office. He was there though; somewhere inside that tiny mass of his office, she could hear his loud, distinct voice. There was no way she was going to get near that mess. Then there was a loud yell, Cash's. The mass of people then parted, letting an angry Cash out, followed by none other than Commissioner Gordon. Funny, she thought to herself, that he would go here instead of Warden Sharpe. Leaning against a wall, away from the crowd, she tried to think of something, anything to distract herself.

"Dr. Gibbs!" Her head snapped up to see Cash walking over to her quickly and the Commissioner not far behind.

"Yes?" She responded, continuing to lean against the wall. By the looks of it, the Commissioner didn't look at all too happy with Cash. The Commissioner was a tall, large framed man, considerably fit for his apparent older age. He had a large grey moustache, almost covering his top lip, a mass of neat grey hair to match and glasses resting on his nose.

"You busy?" He asked quickly.

"No."

"Good, take the Commissioner here over to the Warden," he said flatly, nodding his head in the direction of the Commissioner.

"Um what?" She stepped off the wall and looked between the two.

"Cash, I need to my men to be here, I need to be here!" The Commissioner yelled at Cash, ignoring Shirley.

"Your men can continue to stay here, but I can't do my job when you are dictating my men," Cash snapped back, just as fiercely as the Commissioner. The Commissioner didn't say anything in response and Cash nodded.

"Thanks, Dr. Gibbs." Shirley looked up at the tall man, not sure exactly what to say. What do you say to the head of the police of Gotham? Heading back over to Arkham Mansion, the Commissioner took it upon himself to fill the silence.

"So what kind of doctor are you?"

"A psychologist."

"Ah, I see," he said, his tone meaning something different altogether. She glared at him and he caught her. Quickly she looked ahead, trying to smooth the situation. "My apologizes. You wouldn't happen to be a psychologist to Joker would you now?"

"No," she replied. She wasn't going to offer any more information, not unless she was asked. The Commissioner looked down at her and shook his head.

"Well, Cash wouldn't know who you were unless you were a doctor to someone he really doesn't like?"

"And who would those people be?" She quirked, not looking at him

"The worst patients here."

"Warren White," her response was short and sharp, making the Commissioner cringe.

"White? Well, you must have your hands full," he retorted, stirring her interest.

"How so?"

"That man has to be one of the most manipulative criminals I have ever met. I'm glad I only met him once," he replied, looking ahead, Arkham Mansion coming in to view. Ah! She wanted to scream! Why was everything coming back to Warren?

"It is what it is." She didn't even know what that meant; it just came out. With another throb in her head, she decided that she didn't want to think about it.

"Say Dr. Gibbs, do you think he would have attempted to escape with Joker?" It was obvious then, that the Commissioner had really only met Warren once, _before_ his coming to Arkham. Warren would not escape with the Joker, only in the direst of situations and this wasn't one. Besides, it had never seemed that he wanted to escape. But then again, how was she to know?

"No, he wouldn't."

"Can you be sure?" Could she?

"I'm his psychologist," she finally said, catching his gaze sternly.

"He's also a patient at Arkham." He was a policeman, how in the world could he understand what it was to be a psychologist? She sped up her pace; he had already matched it. As they got closer to Arkham Mansion, some police officers ran up to him.

"Sir!" A few of them yelled together, to get his attention. They caught up to the two as they continued their path over to the Warden's office. Stopping at the large front doors, he started to ask and answer a few of their questions. Shirley tuned out, not wanting to take much more in today. Rubbing her forehead, she reminded herself that she _really_ needed to take those painkillers soon.

"Dr. Gibbs?" The Commissioner asked her suddenly.

"Oh, yes?" She replied flatly, her headache throbbing strongly.

"You know Mr. Gallo?" She paused before responding but slowly replied with a 'yes'.

"Well he needs to see you apparently, over at Penitentiary," he said, followed by a nod and thanks, and then he was off. Running a hand through her hair, she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Grasping her head with one hand, she made her way over to Penitentiary.

What was going to happen now? Hadn't Arkham been secure enough? Weren't the guards doing their jobs? And this was Joker. This wasn't someone who robbed banks or blew up things to get something. He did these things 'cause he found them _funny_. Funny! What could normal people offer? What could people give him so he would just go away? And Shirley had interviewed him. Once, but it was enough. This man wasn't an idiot – far from it. He was a calculating, insane genius that was free and out on the run. And White? She wished she had some kind of thought or idea, just _anything_ but there was nothing. She knew everything about him but in the end, she didn't know jack shit. Having the degree and textbook knowledge was one thing, but analyzing these people required something more. Resilience? Bravery? If she knew she wouldn't be sulking.

Her head throbbed.

Now she was standing there outside of Penitentiary, having second thoughts, of sorts. She didn't have to be here. Yes, she did. Lewis was right, this was crossing the line. Bit late. Late? She was late. Guards, again, were scattered around the place. In the Cell Access there were a few people sitting around the desks. Only coming here the few selected times, she asked one of the less occupied employees where she might find Mr. White. Shirley appreciated the direction, even if the man had seemed annoyed. Given the circumstances, she would be too.

He was in the Main Cell Block. Lucky though, he was in the west section of the block.

Passing through the Main Cell Block, the screams and cries from the inmates made her head spiral. Finally though, she was in the western section. Leaning against the wall for a moment, she caught her breath. Painkillers! Before she talked to Warren, she gobbled down some codeine pills. When she stumbled in even more, Rocco was already at her side.

"Shirley, where the hell have you been?" he said accusingly, looking her up and down. It was oddly quiet in here. She was thankful but nonetheless unnerved. Unlike the main part of the cell block, this block had cells with solid doors, no see-through glass or plastic cells that she had just walked past. The pills didn't seem to have taken any effect what so ever.

"What – what do you mean?" She replied, eyes having trouble focusing on the figure in front of her.

"Warren needs you," he said firmly, as he took hold of her.

"But why?" she asked, as Rocco led her, clutching her shoulders.

"Does it matter?"

"No." The headache was taking such control over her, she wasn't even thinking. What she wanted to say just came out. Painkillers, she needed more. But she didn't think she could even manage breaking them out of the packet. Slipping, because her feet were doing their own thing, she would have fallen. Rocco luckily caught her and placed her on the floor. He crouched next to her, with a worried expression on his face.

"You okay?"

"Ah," she cried, having trouble putting a brave face on, the headache surged. What was this? She had never, never ever, had a headache like this.

"Wait, let me take you over to his cell, I'll grab some painkillers," he said as he felt her head.

"No," she thought she had said that a lot firmer, but it came out strangled and breathlessly. Without another word, Rocco lifted her under her legs and put her arms around his neck. Rocco did admit to himself that the woman was a little heavy but he had carried other people that made her feel like a feather. Outside White's cell was indeed a chair and that was where Rocco placed her. Head lolling around, she couldn't think of any way to stop the pain. How could she complain though? She kept asking herself. Her dad was in more pain than this, no doubt that Lewis was too. But she was complaining. It didn't stop tears rolling down her cheeks though.

"Shirley?" She heard a familiar voice, breaking through the pain in her head. Raising her head, she looked up at the door in front of her and gasped. There was Warren, in the doorway of what she assumed was his cell. The door was ajar and he was just _standing_ there. Were there cuffs? Any form of restraint. "Shirley? Darling, look at me," he called again, stepping forward. There was a rattle though. Looking behind him she saw that he was attached to the doorway. There was a chain that was about two foot long, pulled straight out as Warren attempted to go over to her.

"Go away," she said as fiercely as she could manage but again it came out breathless. A chuckle came from Warren. Stretching one of his legs out, he hooked his foot on to one of the legs of her steel chair and dragged it across the metal floor. He continued to drag her until she was in his cell. Her head dropped again and it hung there. Feeling a familiar few-fingered hand, Warren held her chin up. The world spun around her and Warren was her only support. The chair was a cold reminder of where she was though, but she couldn't muster any energy. She only hoped Rocco would return soon.

Slowly, she was pulled off the cold chair then in to something much warmer and softer. There was a calming finger running up and down her arm as she was steadied against, against – Warren's chest? What should have been a jump was more like a clumsy movement that didn't result in her slipping out of his grip. Moving her head up, she saw the smirking face of Warren looking down at her, very pleased.

"Shirley, you need to take better care of yourself," he said pleasantly, his pointed teeth making his calm tone slightly disturbing. She wasn't a fighter, not right now, so she let her head fall against his chest. The rhythmic breathing in his chest managed to soothe Shirley enough to let her shut her eyes. Anything that soothed the headache, she would take. If it was Warren, then, well, she would take him. Sooner, rather than later, Rocco returned. Though quite out of it, Shirley was embarrassed and tried to slip away from Warren. His arm tightened around her waist and hoisted up his figure slightly.

"You think she'll mind?" She heard Rocco say lowly to Warren. It hurt so much, she didn't care.

"Rocco?" Shirley gasped from Warren's lap.

"Hey I got you a painkiller," Rocco said softly. Reaching out shakily, a large tablet was dropped in to her hand. She was moving about, trying to find her water when she felt the cold bottle pressed against her searching hand. Gulping it down, she sighed at the cooling effect the water had. It wasn't long before the headache slowly ebbed away. But with the headache dissipating, she felt strange. Her head still felt cloudy and jumbled up, actually worse. The stroking continued to attempt to soothe her. But she was confused as hell. The arm draped around her waist was now scaring her, hadn't she realized its presence? Making a move to get up, the arm tightened. It pulled her back, making her see double.

"Where are you going?"'

"Wa-rre-en," she tried to say, but her mouth was only half responding. The stroking hand moved to her chin and held it up. Eyes peered down at her, catching her in her airy trance.

"Yes?" He replied with a smile. In her hazy state, she began to realize where she was. Why – why was she here though? She didn't remember. It was all rushing by her, like a blur of dull colours. His face though, gave her some gravity. She needed to go home. But that was the extent of her thought process. Struggling, she pushed away Warren's controlling arms.

"Shirley!" Rocco said loudly. She could only think: home. Now. She began to run, past all the inmates and guards. Some yelled at her but stopped soon after, they didn't want to get involved. Even in her sneakers, she tripped a few times. Pulling herself up, she managed to stumble in to her car. In her car, she drove back home, miraculously. Away from Arkham. Away from Warren.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I never thought that so many people would be reading this story. According to my plans, we are about halfway through the story, a point I never thought I would get to. First off, thank you to my beta reader **_**Night Monkey **_**(Check out her Batman stories! You won't be disappointed!) and my loyal reviewers who keep coming back! The book title in the last chapter was **_**Four Past Midnight**_**. Sorry this chapter is a little short and way too late.**

**The Jackel: Ah good, now never let a soul see it!**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such are owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

"Miss. Gibbs, did you hear me?"

The moment they had arrived, she knew. She fought with the knowledge, the knowledge she didn't want to have and didn't want to exist. But of course, as with anything else, once you know something it can't be forgotten. Especially not something like this. She couldn't erase or forget something she didn't even know. The sobbing form of her mother made her cringe and she tried to ignore the sensation in her chest.

"Miss Gibbs-"

"Yes," she replied sharply. They were in a secluded room, plain and sterile. When she inhaled, the smell was now all too familiar, a reminder that this couldn't be ignored.

"Your father is in a stable condition right now, doing very well after having the colonoscopy a few days ago," the doctor said, looking down at the clipboard in his hands. His voice was even and collected but it did nothing to ease the next piece of information he was about to tell. Her mother knew, as soon the doctor had wanted to talk to them _privately_. That's when Shirley had really taken control. Up until now, her mother had been strong, though still teary. But this was all too much for her now.

"The results?" She was so anxious to hear the results but at the same time, she wanted to rip the paper up. The results would cement the horrible feeling she had and well, she had no idea about what to do. There was nothing in the world that could prepare you for this.

"I honestly don't know how the other doctors have missed it. I was only assigned to your father when he was getting his colonoscopy. I read his file and had some concerns. Suffice to say Miss. Gibbs, the colonoscopy has only confirmed these concerns or, particularly, _one_ of them," Dr. Grayson explained, somewhat somberly.

"And?" She sounded rude and cold, inside though, her heart was beating quickly and her hands were getting clammy.

"It appears, Miss. Gibbs, that your father has cancer, located in the colon."

Cancer. That was taking her father from this world. Then, she felt nothing. Nothing at all. The ache in her chest was gone and replaced with a numb sensation.

"How long?"

"Well, if I can be honest with you, he must have been ill for quite some time. Cancer in this part of the body does have symptoms, obvious ones. Tell me, did he appear gaunt or thinner? Not eating as much? Throwing up?"

Honestly, that felt irrelevant now. With every passing second, her father was closer to death.

"I didn't ask you that," she said calmly but the anger oozed from every word.

"I apologize. It always depends on the person but in stage four, really, I would say about one month. No more than two." Not much was said after that. Shirley had trouble concentrating anyways; her mother, though, was demanding to see her father. That was something Shirley _knew_ she wouldn't be able to handle, not today, not tomorrow, not any day. Dr. Grayson only stayed for another ten minutes, and then left the two women alone.

"Bye." Shirley made her way over to the door and went to open the door.

"What do you mean?" Her mother said loudly.

"I've got things to do," she replied flatly, not looking at her mother. Her eyes were trained on the doorknob, itching to open it.

"What? What? This is your father!"

"Not now, mum!" She said loudly, turning around, gazes caught.

"Yes! Right now!" She was nearly screaming and no doubt, people could probably hear. Shirley needed to go though, anywhere. She wished it was a workday; was a Sunday though. And that didn't give her many excuses. Still, she lingered in front of the door, hand grasping the doorknob. "You – you walk out of here, -"

"What, mum?" She retorted, her cold manner slicing the air between the two women. Her mother took a step back, mouth open and tear trails on her aged cheeks shining in the light. Shirley regretted how coldly she had responded but didn't say anything else as she slipped out of the room. As she drove away from the hospital, she tried to not to focus on the fact that her phone hadn't rung. Not once.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Come on!" she cried angrily at car in front of her. It had been a week since, well, it had just been a week. Eventually her mother had called, but Shirley had only picked up once. And again, it hadn't ended well. How could it? Now she was on her way to work, _late_, because she had slept in. Again. This wasn't a good week. Not to mention that she had also avoided Warren's interview plan. They were getting harder and harder to do. Ever since Joker's breakout, security had gotten a hell of a lot tighter. Getting in to Arkham took longer and was now officially stressful. Finally the car in front realized that yes, the lights were green. Shirley took a sharp turn at the next intersection, followed by a few toots from fellow drivers.

Passing through the newly updated staff gate, which actually took a scan of the car and anything inside, including the person/s, she parked her car. Everywhere now, the high security areas had had the large doors replaced with mechanical ones and annoying scanners. Arkham had already been cold and distant, but now it was ten-fold. And the Joker. Boy, he might have gone without his usual bang but he was making up for it. Crime rates were soaring and the Joker was slapped on to every news article and television segment. And Harley, she was a mess.

Dashing from the car park, she ran to her office. She had Walker. Whilst he was incredibly disgusting and disturbing, her knowledge and skills from university worked on breaking him down. She had re-written his profile completely and gone in to extensive detail. Once that had been done she'd been working on trying to change what was in his profile. But really, there was only so much she could do for him. He knew what he had done was morally wrong and illegal but he honestly did not care. Truthfully, Shirley thought he should go somewhere else. The things he had done to – to get here were repulsive but she wasn't so sure that he could get better in this environment. Actually, she didn't think that anyone could get 'better' here.

"Dr. Gibbs, you are-" The guard started, raising her brow in surprise.

"Walker inside?" Shirley asked sharply, looking at the guard with her usual cold expression.

"Yes but-" the guard stopped and slumped as she saw that the doctor had again ignored her, like many others. Now Shirley was accustomed to a few bruises on Walker, it was the usual. When she walked in though, she was taken aback. His right eye socket was black, black and the rest of his face was littered with bruises and cuts, one even had stitches.

"Mr. Walker?" She said with a perplexed glance. He smiled.

"Ah, Dr. Gibbs, you must have noticed."

"Indeed," she said flatly, again noting his obvious injuries. Taking her seat, she picked up the notepad nearest to her, and looked up at Walker expectantly. "Mr. Walker?"

"I'm not so sure today Dr. Gibbs," he grinned knowingly, but cringed from the pain in his face. He twitched, but refocused his eyes on her. She jumped slightly at the sudden intensity of his gaze, however set back in to her chair.

"And why would that be?"

"I'm not sure I want to talk to you anymore, if I may say so," Walker said in a righteous tone, looking off in the other direction away from Shirley.

"Of-of course you may say that. Can I ask why?" She stuttered, trying quickly to compose herself. Of course though, when she stuttered, he caught it. Slowly, he turned back around with a blank face and swiftly turned in to a grim one.

"Why? You are asking me why?" He turned his body so he was facing her and frowned.

"I am Mr. Walker."

"Honestly, Dr. Gibbs, are you joking?" He chuckled darkly. Seeing the look in her eyes though, he paused. Quickly after this, his whole demeanor seemed to change.

"I do not joke, now let's commence." She did speak honestly; she did not joke, barely if ever. But she was curious and for reasons unknown, somewhat afraid. Commence the session they did, but it was a struggle. Aside from Walker obvious injuries, that seemed worse then they appeared, he was quite silent and avoided most questions. What she did notice though, was ever so subtly, he would ask her questions. She had caught on quick though and when she had asked him to desist, he face paled and he shrunk down in to his seat. From that point on, the office was silent, only Walker's uneven breathing could be heard. This was quite unlike his usual self, confident and at times, disgusting. Now he was a crumbling, nervous mess. Slightly irritated at the fact that the interview was going absolutely nowhere, she went to call for the guard.

"Wait!" He jumped from his seat, cringed but tried to ignore his pain. "Wait," he repeated, quietly, chilling even Shirley with the desperation mixed with a sick fear, even for him. His free arm reached out to her, quivering.

"Mr. Walker, I am going to call the guard-"

"Please, listen!" He cried out again, reaching for her. Slowly, she rose from her chair and walked behind it. Walker's eyes were trained on her, still carrying a great fear. He fidgeted in his seat and his gaze was pleading.

"Mr. Walker, I will look into –"

"Shirley!" This time, he did not reach out. He dashed madly across the office and fell to her legs, holding them.

"Remove yourself," she tried to say firmly, but she couldn't douse the thoughts rising in her mind. Warren holding her and the fear, the confusion, she felt was coming back to her. Weeping gave her some gravity, though. Looking down, she saw Walker holding on to her for dear life, weeping.

"Oh Shirley, please, please listen, get me out of here," he cried on to her legs.

"If you are requesting a transfer, I-I can see what I can do," she stuttered trying to walk backwards. Even with one arm, Walker had her legs in quite a hold and it was one she was struggling to get out of. Her heart was pounding and her head was lost. The guard must have heard the man's loud weeping, because not a moment too soon, she opened the door and went for Walker. His grip was now violent and he launched himself upon Shirley, making her fall roughly to the ground. Struggling, the guard tried to drag him off.

"Listen, listen to me," he said somewhat calmly and grabbed her face as she was thrashing about. Now she was crying freely, the tears falling down her cheeks and on to the carpet floor. "Listen, please!" He pulled her chin up, squeezing her cheeks, to look him in the eyes. The guard was calling for backup, as she struggled to remove the man from Shirley. She tried kicking him, anywhere, but the man was heavy and on top of her.

"Wh-at," she moaned in between her tears. Now she tried to push him off with her arms. He slid of slightly but then slapped her and returned the harsh grip on her face. Next thing she heard was guards busting in to her office, pulling the manic Walker off her.

"Shirley! Run! RUN!" He screamed as he was dragged away, his voice echoing in the hallways. Shaken and still lying on the floor, the female guard remaining held out a hand to the doctor. Being quite an experienced guard here at Arkham, she'd seen this before. Not waiting for Dr. Gibbs, she pulled her up with one swift motion.

"You alright?" She questioned, after the doctor had been settled in to her chair.

"Yeah." With being an experienced guard, she also knew that that was all Dr. Gibbs was going to say. So she left. Shirley watched as the guard left. There would be papers she would have to fill out and some questioning from no doubt from Cash. She pulled her legs up and leaned her head on the side of her chair. He would get a transfer. After what had just happened, even if she wanted to keep him. Which she did not. Couldn't she just do her job? At all? And hell, she still had to plan Warren's next interview. Well, this was in the job description wasn't it? She'd have to be a big girl and suck it up. Or at least try as hard as she bloody could. Getting up carefully from her office chair, she walked over to her desk and plopped down in front of her computer. A white screen looked back her bleakly in the face. Her office phone began to ring.

"Dr. Shirley Gibbs, how can I help you?" She answered, monotone voice.

"Dr. Gibbs, how are you?" Dr. Westler's calm and flat voice replied. Damn! Shirley thought, she would have to careful, Westler caught on to even the slightest hints of a person's true feelings. Even hers.

"Well, yourself?"

"Well enough. Now, how are you really going?" Shirley's heart race increased and she was just thankful that Westler wasn't in the actual room with her. Then she would be in trouble.

"I am quite sure what you mean." She knew perfectly, she just wished that she didn't.

"I thought I would let you know that Mr. Walker has been re-assigned."

"Why? I am still able to interview him." Shirley swiveled in her chair. Could really face that man again? As his psychologist, well ex-psychologist, shouldn't she have seen this coming? Had it even been coming?

"Truthfully Dr. Gibbs, it is more so for him. But I would like to hear your thoughts; this is quite out of characters for Mr. Walker," Westler explained.

"I am aware of this, he was quite distant for the duration of the session."

"And as his psychologist, do you have any ideas why?"

"He did tell me he was injured and I could see that he had been in some kind of accident or brawl," Shirley answered, but not really saying anything. Anyone could see that the man had some injuries, telling her so would also be a given.

"Of which he usually happens to find himself in. Anything else?"

"Well-" Westler cut her off, making Shirley frustrated.

"I would think that you would have been somewhat concerned by the frequency of these 'accidents' and brawls. What about your other patients?"

"All quite well –" Again, she was cut off.

"How about Mr. White?" Shirley stopped moving her chair, facing the blank document.

"Oh, yes, well I think I have made quite some progress." Of course.

"The reason I ask is, is because I have not seen a report from you in a while."

"I was under the impression that they were not necessary?"

"That is true, but you haven't missed one yet," she reasoned further and Shirley could almost hear a smirk.

"Well, I'll get one to you as soon as I can. I've got a call coming through, but um, thank you for the call."

"Just procedure, Dr. Gibbs," Westler said finally and hung up. The phone rang for a second then she picked up.

"Hello, this is Dr. Shirley Gibbs, how can I help you?" She swiveled her chair away from the screen, not wanting to look at the 'progress' of Warren's interview plan.

"Shirley!" Lewis cried.

"Lewis, what's wrong?" She sighed, leaning back.

"Nothing, why are you so tense though?" he asked, concerned. It sounded like he was on a bus.

"I'm at work," she replied, in an annoyed tone.

"Yeah whatever you say," he said in a lighthearted tone.

"Why are you calling, Lewis?"

"Can you get off early today? I passed this awesome-looking restaurant today after classes. Besides, friends have said it is the best; they throw food at you-" Shirley cut him off sharply.

"Working late."

"Again?"

"Yes Lewis, now please I really have to go," she groaned, the chair turning and making her face the interview plan again. Lack of interview plan.

"It's not okay, if you want the truth," he said seriously and annoyed.

"At least I am working," she said coldly, trying to type to accentuate the point.

"Well you know what? At least I'm going to enjoy my career!" And then the line was dead. Shirley felt guilty. He didn't know about her father, only that he was in hospital. She refused to do it though. She couldn't think about it either, because the more she thought the more her chest ached and her throat burnt. Making it a reality, her dad, was not something she wanted to do. At least not yet. Shaking her head, she turned herself back to the blank monitor. Better to face this bloody demon now, 'cause this interview plan wasn't going away.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She hadn't had that much longer to work on the interview plan as she had another patient, but boy did she stay in after her 'work hours'. It was hitting a late ten at night and Shirley had decided that she had done everything she could for the day. Even she was surprised at how much work she had done and how _late_ she had worked. Warren's interview plan had taken a considerable amount of time but even then, it had been completed hours ago. She had even filled out the forms and written up a small explanation of what had happened. Westler had dropped by to pick that up and asked her just to e-mail the report. The report was nearly done. Giving it the final save, she went to her e-mail box.

Odd.

There was an e-mail, from Harley, well _Harleen Quinzel_. The doctor title was pretty loose, for both of them. If they wanted 'Dr.' on business cards and so forth, they'd have to become a psychiatrist. Fighting her curiosity, she sent the report off to Dr. Westler first and then opened the e-mail.

_hey shirlz i rly need u 2 print dis 4 me. just slip it unda the door at my office! THX!_

_Harley_

Shirley shuddered at the pure insult this e-mail was to English language, but alas told the printer to print the attached document. Whilst she was waiting for her small toner printer to spit out Harley's document, she heard a ding from her computer and looked back. Damn the server! Her e-mail had been bounced back. She would now have to print her report and deliver it to Dr. Westler office. Bless the day though, it was Friday. After stapling the documents together, Westler's and Harley's, Shirley packed her stuff up and locked her office. Done for the week. Hopefully.

Arkham was even more daunting and creepy after hours, especially _really_ after hours. She wouldn't be surprised if she was one of the last doctor leaving. Then again, some doctors lived on site for a few days at a time then didn't work for a few days. She didn't have that option, as she was a psychologist, but the thought of sleeping here freaked her out way too much. Walking down the corridors, defeated by the wave of tiredness, mostly by the work she had done today, she tried not to think too much. The great thing about working for so long and hard, she hadn't had a moment to really think about herself. For those hours, she felt fine. If feeling like a robot was good, then she had felt awesome. It was a damn sight better then _really_ thinking about her life. And Lewis. She didn't want to admit it, but she was being one hell of a bitch to him.

Work was the best thing she could do right now. Because when she did have to face her mother and father, at least she could be…levelheaded. She had to be. No one else was going to do it. Finally, she arrived near Westler's office and slipped the report in to the locked box outside her door that was labeled 'DOCUMENTS'. As she walked away, she heard some footsteps behind her, and they sounded familiar. Turning her head and seeing who it was, she sighed.

"Shirley, why are you here so late?" Rocco asked, stepping with her pace. Amazing, the man still managed to look clean cut and handsome this late at night. Sometimes it just had to be genetics, she swore.

"Work, what else?" She replied, looking ahead as she walked towards Harley's office, the heavy document in hand. It was a good twenty pages, longer then her own report for Westler. In her haste to just get the day over and done with, she hadn't even peeked a look yet. Not that she should, but this was Harley, how classified could a document be by her?

"Didn't your day finish, what, a good four or five hours ago?"

"Yes, but I haven't signed out yet," She replied, taking a sharp turn.

"Smart choice," he replied smoothly, not losing the pace.

"Is there a reason you are walking with me?"

"I need a reason to walk with a friend?"

"I am not your friend, Rocco," she said coldly, as she neared Harley's office. Not wanting him to know where she was going, she slowed down and looked up at him. He was chuckling darkly and his pace had also slowed as he met with Shirley.

"I am wounded _bella_, truly," he said, holding a hand to his chest. He shook his head at her clear uncertainty on how to respond. "Farewell." He waved his hand as walked down another corridor in the opposite direction. Peeking down the corridor one last time to make sure he was gone, she walked quickly to Harley's office. She wasn't even sure why she had printed the document. Harley was sure to pounce on her the next time she saw her. Then again, Harley would also question her if she didn't. The questions wouldn't stop but hopefully the pounces would.

What had happened today had made her question her ability to be a psychologist, in this area at least. Was she really cut out for it? Maybe she did need some spunk. It wasn't something that she had ever seen herself needing. All she saw was herself being in an office, sessions with patients and making progress. That picture seemed a lot harder to achieve now.

Arriving at the familiar office, she saw that the office was open. Well, no need to slide it then. She could drop it in on her desk and leave. The light was on, but Shirley didn't think much of it. The woman had no doubt forgotten about it and left hours ago. Pushing the door open, she froze. It was, it was, unbelievable. Stepping in to the middle of the room, she turned around in a circle. Countless pictures of the Joker had been stuck to the walls, but that wasn't the worst part. There were red kiss marks all over them. On her desk, there were newspapers, with the Joker's face slapped on the front and other clippings involving him. Suddenly, she looked down. There in her hand was Harley's document, neatly stapled together.

Hesitantly, she lifted it up and held it firmly in both of her hands. What the hell was in this? Did she want to know? If she left it here, then Harley would talk to her about this and, and, make up false accusations about her – her and Warren. But she had to have a look. Maybe she could leave it here, and let that be the end of it. There was something seriously wrong with Harley, more than Shirley had ever thought. Her eyes glanced back down at the document. Carefully, she pulled the blank title page open. A picture of him, another picture, another, another. The pages were full of two or more pictures of the Joker, many of them more than doubled up.

Calmly, she placed it on the woman's desk; she wanted to get the hell out of here. Shirley hadn't forgotten the last encounter she had had with Harley. If anything, the state of her office only confirmed some concerning thoughts Shirley found herself having about Harley. Something awful was happening to her and no one else could see it. Fear swept up her body as she heard the door creak.

"Shirls?" The familiar voice rung out through her eardrums and all she could think of was one, simple word. Shit.

"Harley," she said evenly as she turned to face the woman leaning against the door. And what a mess she was. Nowhere near as bad as the _last_ time they had seen each other, but still quite a mess. Eyeliner smudged and bun loose, disheveled clothes – somehow she still managed to freak out Shirley.

"What are you doing in here?" She asked with a disturbing smile, walking closer to Shirley. Shirley took a step back, matching Harley.

"I was dropping the document off," she replied, trying to keep her stance. Harley continued to smile, pushing her chest against the doorframe.

"Did you look at it?" She asked in a sweet voice, only disturbing Shirley further.

"No," her voice faltered, giving her away. Harley smirked and walked up to her and Shirley tried to walk back even more but before she met the wall, Harley grabbed her top. Hauling her forward, Shirley tried not to gasp. Harley leant her face down, so their noses were touching.

"Please, don't lie," she giggled, moving her hands to Shirley's waist. Shirley shivered out of fear as Harley leant her head down to her neck and leant her head on Shirley's shoulder.

"Le-t go of me," she said softly and weakly. Haley giggled and sunk her fingers in to Shirley's waist. Shirley was, somehow, in this position again. But this time, they were alone. Not outside in the open where anyone could see them; they were inside Harley's small office.

"Not just yet," she said darkly. The hands in her waist snuck in farther, and then suddenly threw Shirley to the ground with a great force. Scrabbling around, Shirley pushed herself up against the wall nearest to her. Harley crouched down in front of her and grabbed her left ankle. "Shirls, why are you in here?"

"Your document," She stuttered, thrashing around, trying to release her ankle from Harley's grip. Harley frowned slightly and tightened her hold.

"Thank you for that, but I didn't ask ya to come in here," she replied nodding her head near the end as Shirley shook her head. Annoyed at Shirley's continuous moving around, she sat down on her legs. Shirley couldn't help but cry out at the sudden weight on her legs and Harley's grip on her wrists. "I have a favour to ask of you Shirls. You listening?" Shirley paused in her thrashing and nodded her head, not looking Harley in the eyes.

"Yes."

"Good! Now, all I want you to do is to go home and not say a word," she said nodding, trying to catch Shirley's gaze. It was downcast though, looking at her lap. Harley bounced up then fell back down on Shirley's legs. Shirley screamed out and her head bolted up to smiling a Harley. "Please?"

"Alright! Just get off me!" Shirley sneered, pulling her arms up violently to which Harley let go. Rising from Shirley's now sore legs, she stretched out a hand. Ignoring the hand, Shirley quickly got up off the floor. Grabbing her things by the door she made a mad rush to exit Arkham. Shirley had never in her life, been so ready for the weekend.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Okay, I don't ever like to give away **_**anything**_** about my plotline but I just want to add one thing. The game plot is not starting in this chapter, not the next either (and I think the one after that too). For this, I thank you for your patience! Umm, well this chapter was interesting to write. It was hard in way cause the um, **_**dynamics**_** are different. With them being different, I kind of didn't have anything to go by. I've tried to imagine (not too much!) what it would be like and written it down. I hope it's okay!**

**P.S. I've freaked out my beta with this chapter, be warned!**

**The Jackal: Well, I think as I have said before, I've planned this story in advance. And when I was planning, well, he just didn't pop up. He's in this one though!**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

It was a week before Shirley had to see Harley again. This time though, they weren't alone. Dr. Westler had wanted them to meet up one more time, a last little part of their internship. Shirley was thankful but had a feeling that she would still have to converse with Harley in the future. True to her word, Shirley hadn't said a thing. Lewis was still angry with her and stayed on his side of the bed. She was kind of happy about that fact though; she wasn't in the mood for cuddling or anything _else_. Harley didn't act like anything had happened either. Oddly, she was acting 'normal', like she used to do. But after the last two incidents, Shirley wasn't taking any chances.

"Dr. Gibbs, you did not e-mail your report?"

"There was a problem with the server at the time. The e-mail didn't go through," Shirley replied flatly, looking singularly at Westler. The doctor shrugged her shoulders and looked back to her monitor, scrolling down.

"And, Dr. Quinn, I have yet to receive one of your compulsory reports from a few months ago."

"Here it is," Harley answered in a jolly tone, holding a folder out. Shirley tried not to look surprised, but her eyes did widen. Back when they started, they had to do a few compulsory reports. Shirley could barely remember writing them, it was so long ago. What she did remember was that none of her reports were as thick as the one Harley was handing in. Where did Harley find the time? Westler nodded and took the report, laying it down on top of a neat but high stack of papers. Westler didn't look at either of the women for a good five minutes then, but did not dismiss them. Then the printer went off.

"Dr. Gibbs, could you please get the paper?" Westler asked, not looking away from her main monitor. Shirley nodded, though it was unnoticed, and went to get the paper. It was two sheets of paper, full of text and one picture. One picture of Warren. Trying not to look too confused she handed it to Westler. Leisurely, the doctor rose her eyes to Shirley and quirked an eyebrow. "I did not ask you to give them to me, Dr. Gibbs."

"But then?" Shirley responded confused, sitting back down.

"It is for you, Dr. Gibbs. I think you will see that Dr. Young has revised your psychological profile of Mr. White," Westler explained, returning her gaze back to her monitor. Shirley just sat there for a moment, blank and confused as hell. Then something sparked within her, something dark and mad.

"Dr. Young? But I am his psychologist!" Shirley didn't know what was happening and she didn't care. How dare this woman think she can waltz in and just 'revise' her psychological profile!

"And as any good psychologist, you should be open to your fellow peers' experience," she calmly responded. Shirley's eyes were flickering around the room catching Harley, who sitting quietly and looking empathetically at Shirley. No, this was not okay. Shirley did not value the woman's 'experience'. True, she had graduated with higher honors from Gotham University but that wasn't an exception.

"She hasn't consulted me, though; I have only talked to her once," Shirley continued, now beyond annoyed. She was breaking down and in front of not only Harley, but also Dr. Westler. This wasn't looking good.

"I hope you understand that she is a busy doctor here at Arkham; she is the head of the Research Department," Westler continued to say, only flicking her gaze once to Shirley. "Aside from that, Dr. Gibbs, have you not read Dr. Cassidy's notes?" Shirley was offended, honestly, that Dr. Westler thought she had not read up on White. How could she not have read them? If anyone was going to revise her profile of Warren, aside from Westler, she would rather is be Dr. Cassidy. She hadn't met the woman, but from what she had read in the notes, she didn't mind her. But Shirley was now the only psychologist to be assigned to Warren the longer.

"Shirls?" Harley whispered. Shirley looked over, with a questioning glance. She settled in to her seat, closing her mouth.

"Now, Dr. Quinn, I'll see you separately another time but may I please have a private word with Dr. Gibbs?" Westler asked, sliding her chair so she could face Shirley directly. Harley nodded with a small smile and left the room. Shirley watched her leave the room and then watched the door shut. "Dr. Gibbs?"

"Yes?"

"I will be honest with you, your report was quite astounding. I would have preferred less detail, as the report was quite thick, but it was interesting to read nonetheless."

"Thank you."

"But I found in the last section, it lacked that detail," Westler continued to explain and Shirley knew perfectly what she was talking about. Warren. Like an interview plan, but worse, she had had no idea what to write down. What process was she making with him? Had he improved? These were questions she didn't like to ask herself. She had managed to gather something together, just enough. So she quickly thought of something to say.

"As you pointed out before, I had gone in too much detail. By the time I got to War- Mr. White's section, I was running out of time, as I had another patient to attend to," Shirley elaborated, sounding quite believable.

"Fair enough, Dr. Gibbs. Please head the following advice though; do not get caught. You may go," Westler finished and turned back to her monitor. Shirley rose from the chair and left the room. Stepping out, she saw someone leaning against across the corridor: Harley.

"Hey Shirls," she said softly, looking quite glum. Shirley had a hard time believing that this was the same woman from over a week ago. A few months ago, she wouldn't have minded. But now, it was just a reminder for Shirley. A reminder that this woman was completely unpredictable.

"What do you want?"

"Want to have lunch? We haven't had lunch in ages," she asked frantically and desperately. Harley reached one of her hands out to hold on to Shirley, but she dropped it when Shirley flinched.

"It's okay, I'm fine," Shirley said coldly, moving ahead. And she hadn't forgotten Harley's favour. Yes, she was keeping to it, but she did not have to be nice.

"Please, girl, a coffee at least?" she asked with these pleading eyes. Shirley looked at Harley; again she was a mess. Frazzled blond hair in a messy high ponytail, her glasses crooked and an odd red dress shirt. She couldn't fall victim to this again though, no way.

"No, Harleen," Shirley repeated, sharply and continued to walk down the corridor with a purpose.

"Shirls, come here." The tone of Harley's voice changed, though she was still noticeably upset and glum. Shirley slowed her pace and turned, Harley was looking at her intensely. Shirley was glued to the spot, even when Harley came up to her and linked arms. Pulling her towards to the nearest staff room, they set down at a table.

"I'm, I'm going to buy a sandwich," Shirley said softly, getting up. There was some lunch—pasta—back in her office, but Shirley wasn't going to risk that. And she didn't want to be caught up in an isolated room again with Harley.

"Come back," she chided, as she also rose to make a coffee. Shirley just ignored her comment, but understood what she meant. Tuna and egg, bingo, she had her sandwich. Paying for the sandwich, she made her way back to Harley, who was holding a newspaper. Plopping down, she started to eat her sandwich. Shirley hadn't been in the staff room for a while; it was nice. Because of Westler's meeting, both Harley's and Shirley's schedule for the day had been cut and moved around. So it was nice to sit in the somewhat empty staff room. There were about five or so other doctors in the room. Finishing half of her sandwich, she looked over at Harley. She had just put down one of her newspapers. There were actually four newspapers next to Harley; Shirley didn't have to guess. Joker related. "You know Shirls, I'm just so stressed these days," she said as she lit a cigarette.

"I didn't know you were allowed to smoke in here," Shirley pointed out, pushing her chair back a bit.

"It's not a problem," she replied, as sipped her coffee in between inhaling her cigarette. "So, as I was sayin', it's constantly there, I'm on edge."

"Yeah."

"You find that too? I remember comin' in and Dr. Young giving me a dressin' down on Mr. J," she said lowly, leaning forward, taking another puff.

"Did you have to work with her?"

"Occasionally, she likes to dip her hand in nearly every category six patient," Harley continued. That was odd, Warren wasn't a category six. "And now, even Sharky it seems," she added, leaning back. Harley pushed a hand through her hair as she grabbed another newspaper, with the headline 'JOKER STILL AT LARGE, BODY COUNT RISING'. Shirley took another bite of her sandwich and looked down. She had gotten a call from her bank the other day and her parent's. With her father on life support, twenty-four seven, it was sucking the money out. It wasn't something she wanted to think about, but she had to. She was going to take some night shifts, but she was scared. It wasn't going to be enough. Yesterday, her dad had been awake and had been the best he had been for quite some time now. The doctor had added another month on to the time span and she had just nodded. Even with the now four-month prediction, his health cover was running out. Everything was. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Maybe she could throw some hours in one of the departments at the Medical Facility, helping a doctor.

Then a voice was heard over the speakers, but it was muffled under some alarms. It was kind of like when Joker had broken out, but nowhere near as loud. Suddenly the door the staff room was banged open and a red headed doctor poked his head in yelling.

"The Batman got him! The Batman got Joker!"

Shirley snapped her head to Harley, whose mouth was open and her cigarette nearly finished in her right hand. But she only remained still for less than a second. Jumping up, her seat fell backwards and she was up. The doctor at the door was gone, but commotion could be heard outside. He was back? And the Batman was here? Shirley's head was a mess, but she didn't stay behind. Looking out the door, she saw nurses, guards, doctors, everyone running to Intensive Care Faculty. For some reason, she found herself running with everyone else. Next to her, someone was listening to a radio, it was muzzled but she caught the same thing:

"_I repeat! …..Joker..caught!...Batman…..bank robbery!"_ Was all she heard but it was enough. Up ahead she saw Harley's messy blonde hair, dashing madly. Shirley knew that she shouldn't be running to see the Joker. It would be a security issue, with all these people. Everyone else, though, seemed not to care. This time, she was going with the crowd. Also, she wanted to see the Batman. Finally, after running for a good ten minutes, the large mass of people made it. Harley was roughly pushing her way to the front. Still, the Joker and Batman weren't here but the Warden was, along with a group of guards. Shirley tried to look over everyone's shoulders, but because of her height, could only see the heads of tall people. She found herself pushing people as well, to get a better view. Then one of the large secure doors opened and everyone knew the Joker was there. His laughter bounced off every surface and everyone just stared. At last, Shirley was at the front. And there they were, both of them. It was amazing that the Joker was laughing; he was in a bad shape. His white skin had cuts and blood spots all over it, including his infamous purple suit. Parts of his face were swelling up, his left arm was saggy, swaying with every movement and if it weren't for Batman pushing him along, the Joker would surely be on the floor.

Shirley looked over Harley, who was stepping forward, away from the crowd. Batman stood there and some of the doctors rushed towards the Joker, checking his vitals. The Batman wasn't any better than the Joker though, parts of his suit were ripped, exposing deep and raw gashes and cuts. Still though, he stood strong and tall. It was amazing to see him in the flesh, but Shirley's awe was cut short when she heard a high cry. Everyone looked over at the Joker to see Harley cradling his head to her chest, to which the Joker, even in his state, seemed quite happy about. Her makeup was running down her face and she was glaring the doctors away from the broken clown. Everyone was standing around, dumbfound, then they saw it.

Harley raised her head with a seething glare that was aimed at the Batman. The Batman took a step backwards, after that everyone got in to motion. Harley was crying loudly and reaching out towards Joker as doctors and guards pulled him away on to a stretcher. Guards were holding her back as she flailed about violently. Warden Sharp stepped over to Batman and they began to walk away, not before Batman gave one last confused glance at the crying mess that was Harleen Quinzel. With the Joker being taken away and the Warden leaving with Batman, the crowd depleted quite significantly. Eventually, when the Joker was gone, the guards let go of Harley and left before something else happened involving her. Sitting on the floor, Harley had her head dropped to the floor. And Shirley wasn't staying. She didn't have to though, cause not a minute later, Harley was running down another corridor, from the looks of it, to her office.

Today, Shirley didn't want to be late for her session with Warren. She was full, awake, but most of all, ready. Then she realized she had left Dr. Young's profile of Warren in the staff room. Damn.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It had taken a little bit to get back, because there was no excuse to suddenly start running to the staff room. Now back in her office, sitting in her chair, notepad ready – Warren was late. Thirty minutes late. Because of the meeting with Westler, she had one patient in the morning and Warren in the afternoon. It was would have been an easy day but with Joker's return, work had been chaotic. Lewis had called when she was making her way back to her office. He said that were going to see a movie soon, no matter what. Grudgingly she said to the following Thursday and she could just picture him beaming, it made her feel a little bit better.

There was a loud knock on her door, it opened quickly and Warren walked in, slamming it shut at Rocco's face. She was taken aback by his sudden mood change. It was unlike Warren to be in a seething anger like this. Settling in her seat again, she went to speak but was cut off.

"Look darling, can we not do this charade today?" He snapped impiously, folding his arms.

"Warren, I'm quite sure I don't know what you are talking about," she replied, keeping still. Warren smirked, flashing his teeth. He leant forward, placing his elbows on to his knees. He was more frightening than usual; there was something lingering behind his gaze. Her hands fidgeted with the pen and notepad.

"Come here," he commanded with a smile. Shirley shivered, shivered. Out of fear of course, but in two words, Warren managed to do that to her. She didn't get up, though. Warren waited patiently, staring at her. Then he got up slowly, waltzing up behind her. Next thing Shirley knew, he was gripping her hair with his right hand. Whilst his grip wasn't strong, he had hooked his fingers in to some of her blonde curls and gave them a reasonable tug, pulling her head backwards. "Shirley, won't you listen?" He hissed, pulling her head back to catch his eyes. Shirley tugged her head forward and stepped out her chair quickly.

"No!" She said loudly, glaring at White. This time though, he didn't smirk. His mouth widened, revealing his teeth in horrible new light. Then he went for her. Like an animal, a predator, his eyes snapped to her. He pulled her from behind and threw her to the ground. Shirley scrambled away from his feet, ridden with fear. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Come _here_," he repeated, this time more forcibly. Shirley stared at him wide-eyed. White had never been like this before. At times threatening, but never violent. Staring down at her, he grinned maliciously again. She made a move to get up, but he pushed her back down again, making her trip on her feet, hurting her left ankle.

"Ah!" She cried, falling to the floor again, grasping her ankle. White focused his attention on her ankle and crouched down to her, on the floor. Almost carefully, he stroked her injured ankle. She cringed and tried to drag herself away but pushed hard on it.

"Shirley, please darling, I don't want to hurt you," he cooed, stroking her ankle again.

"Then why are you?" she questioned softly. She was quickly getting angered by the amount of times she was finding herself in a situation where she had no control. Especially with Warren, where was the control going?

"Why? Don't you know?" He snapped, his teeth catching her frantic gaze. She pulled herself away again, determined to get up. She wasn't weak. But Warren quickly reminded her who was where, by latching on to her ankle, making her cry out. It still hurt, but she bit her lip.

"Ah! Know what?" She snapped back, just as viciously as he asked. Looking at each other, he dropped down to her level on the floor, settling down next to her.

"Joker, that's what," he answered coldly, leaning his head against the wall. Oh, was all she could think of before there was a flood of 'you stupid idiot!'s in her head. Warren didn't like Joker, not one bit. If his past encounters were anything to go by, Warren might even be afraid of the Joker. Shirley went to shuffle away from the shark-like man, but yet again, his disfigured hand went to stop her. It wasn't strong this time, though. He laid it on her shoulder and carefully weaved his right arm around her waist. Shirley's heart was pounding and she really wanted to do something. Really she did.

But she wasn't.

"Shirley?" He whispered, but it had a slight hiss to it when he spoke through his sharp teeth. Incased in his arm, she didn't really have a choice to not look. So she turned her head towards his. "That's better." He smiled and ran a finger down her cheek. This time she couldn't hold back a shiver. Whether it was out of fear or something, something else. Shirley was hoping it was out of fear and _nothing_ else. Before she could think of anything else, Warren slapped her face harshly. She cried out and jumped away from him, lightly touching her cheek. It felt numb but yet it still hurt. Across from her on the floor, Warren was watching her with his usual devious expression.

That was it, Shirley had to get out of here and get Rocco. But if she made a rash move, he'd get her. But if she went too slowly, then he could get her again. Bolt for the door and call for Rocco. That had to work. It was worth a shot anyways. There was a good forty minutes until the interview was over and she didn't know if she could last much longer. So for a minute she cleared her head, braced herself and jumped up to the door. She did make it and grabbed the doorknob giving, it quite a strong turn. Nothing. In fact, it felt like it was locked. From the outside. Shirley started to rattle it frantically, which had to get someone's attention. But it the only person that seemed to acknowledge her, had now waltzed up behind her. Shirley was holding back from screaming and even in this situation, she wouldn't scream. Out of self-respect or the fear that it would only worsen her predicament, she didn't scream. But a few tears graced her cheeks.

Warren wrapped his arms around her waist and leant down to rest his chin on her left shoulder. Realizing that no one was coming, her hand slipped from the doorknob. How could this be happening? She couldn't stop asking herself. She was the psychologist. She was one in power.

"I'm sorry," Warren whispered in to her ear. He said it again; she didn't say anything, though. Not a word. Slowly, he pulled her away from the door and over to her chair. She cringed inwardly at the pain in her ankle. He sat down in it and pulled her on to his lap. Shirley just wondered then, was this what had happened to Harley? But as soon as that question, thought, idea hit her, she bolted in Warren's lap. No, she wasn't making any comparisons. Warren held her though, in her own chair. It hurt her more than the slap did. Her own chair. And not only was he sitting on it. He was sitting on it, with her on his lap. Like she was a child. Well not really a child, he was stroking her cheek.

"Put me down," she said, finally finding her voice.

"I'm sorry darling, I didn't hear you, what did you say?"

"Put me down, now."

"You haven't objected Shirley, I see no problem," he purred, locking his fingers in to her hair. Shirley's heart rate was so high that she swore she could feel her hands shaking.

"Mr. White –" It was odd to say, but it caught his attention.

"Mr. White? Have we really dropped back to that?" He asked, pulling her closer to his chest.

"It has always been that way," she tried to remind him and hoped that she was reminding herself in turn.

"It never has, you know that," he said darkly. Shirley shuddered and Warren's teeth gleamed. The interview continued on in this manner, awkward silence for Shirley and her cheek and hair being stroked by Warren. When the session ended, he placed her carefully on his chair and left with Rocco. The door shut softly and Shirley raised a hand to her faintly swollen cheek. Looking up, across from her, she saw her empty chair.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Babe!" Lewis called from the bathroom. Shirley stopped. She had been pretty lucky, missing him the last few mornings. But he had asked her about it last night and of course, she had avoided it. Usually, when she left, he was dead asleep on his tummy with his mouth open on his pillow. Last night though, well, they both hadn't gotten much sleep. Shirley felt better just because of the human contact. With her dad in hospital, she had been avoiding it. After work the other day, she had seen her father. He wanted to meet Lewis. It was one big mess, one that she didn't want to deal with. She would have to tell Lewis soon, though.

Jogging out of the bathroom with just his jeans on, Lewis smirked. His mates were questioning him constantly about why he was sticking with Shirley. He'd chuckle, but sometimes, of late he would wonder. He wasn't going to leave her, but really, she did have a cold manner sometimes. Last night, he wasn't going to lie, had been great. Over the course of months they had been dating, she avoided sleeping with him often. But when she did, well, she was a different person. But that wasn't the point. Something was wrong with her and he felt like shit, complete and utter shit, for not being there for her. When he had met her, she was calm and collected. Not now, though. She was becoming frantic and was never at home. He missed her. He missed his Shirley.

"Where are you going so soon?" he said, leaning against a wall.

"Going to work," she snapped, turned back to her bag. Damn! She couldn't find Warren's interview plan. It had been two days since his last session and she wanted things to go differently this time. Maybe it was at work, on her computer. She hoped, because she couldn't afford to be late. Warren was first and she had a busy day ahead of her. Then, she had to avoid Harley. And if she had some time, clean her office up as well; it was becoming too much of a mess. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she jumped.

"Hey, come here," he soothed, pulling Shirley to him. Shirley was clouded by her anxiety and plans for the day. She slapped him, just out of impulse. Then she gasped, all too quickly aware of what she had just done. Lewis's head was still to the side but he turned it back and locked his gaze with her visibly shocked one.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she stuttered.

"Shirley, what's happening to you?" he asked, holding a hand to his cheek.

"I'll see you later!" Then she was out the door, leaving Lewis standing there.

Being on time always made her feel good, in way. She was keeping to the plan and keeping with the plan was good. Factoring in traffic was a good as well, as there was always a plentiful amount of that in Gotham. Shirley was almost used to passing through the security in the morning. Her mother had asked if it was worse in the afternoon, meaning night. Shirley wouldn't say it was worse, just a lot more intimidating. It didn't matter what time of day it was in Arkham; every second was vital.

Racing to her office, now ahead of time, she searched for the interview plan. In every stack of paper, under every coffee cup and through every folder on her computer: nowhere. It wasn't anywhere that she had ruthlessly searched. There was an answer to this. It was probably on her computer at home. But if it was on her computer at home then the e-mail with the file had to be in her inbox! With a new streak of hope, too much hope, she searched her inbox. It took about a second for her to find the e-mail and even less to realize that the file was pretty much void, as she had revamped it at home. She was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed.

"Shirley." She jumped in her seat and sent a stack of paper to the floor. Warren was standing in the middle of her office, arms crossed and his usual toothy smile slapped on his face. Looking at him as she picked up her papers, she seethed when he seated himself in her seat. Stacking the papers back in their original place on her desk, she made her way over to him.

"Please get up."

"But I'm in my seat, you take yours," he replied, stretching out his arms on the arms of the chair. Shirley rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair across from him. "You could have sat here as well," he said, motioning towards his lap. He must have noticed she had nothing in her hands, before she did because he got up and took on her hands in his.

"Warren, sit down," she commanded weakly.

"Why Shirley, you're shaking," Warren pointed out, holding her quivering hand with both of his disfigured ones. He pulled her up and motioned for her to go back over to his seat. Sitting down, he attempted to pull her back down but Shirley stood her ground. She remained where she was, silent and still. Using both hands, he gave her another tug, making her stumble but still, not fall on to his lap. Suddenly, he kicked her left leg, and then gave her another tug, making her fall in to his lap. This time it was his turn to gasp of air at the sudden weight on his lap.

"Let go of me!" she exclaimed, wriggling around.

"No, you stay _right_ here," he murmured, putting his head to her curls. After that comment, she stopped moving.

"What do you want, Warren?" She said finally. If this was going to be every interview with Warren from now on, she couldn't take the degradation. Slowly, he guided her head to his.

"What I want, that's a big question isn't it?" He pointed out. Shirley wasn't listening too closely. Even with all the photos, all the interviews, everything, she had never seen Warren this close. His eyes though, were an odd brown, edged by green. Up close, looking in his eyes, he didn't seem so bad. But again, she knew that was a terrible thought.

"It depends," she replied, dazed by the closeness of his face. She was taking everything in, from the lack of his nose to his shark-like teeth and pale skin.

"Well, here's one thing I have wanted to do for a long time gorgeous," he added, just before he pushed her head forward. She couldn't say she was lip locked, but she knew that he was kissing her. It was strange kissing – being kissed by someone who had no lips. Was it even a kiss then? But to her own mortifying realization, she was kissing him back? Why was she doing this? More importantly though, why wasn't she stopping? Her hands were braced against his chest, but she moved them timidly to hold his shoulders. His arms moved to hold her waist tightly and drag her closer to him. It felt so strange, the lack of lips. When she was kissing him, she could feel the odd sharp prick from his teeth that made her jump slightly.

Then she felt something that made her stop: his tongue. Pulling back she looked at him for a moment, before she slapped him. The slap didn't faze him too much, that was clear to Shirley. He licked his teeth and looked at her in a very, very dark manner.

"Well, well, Shirley," he laughed darkly. She frowned and suddenly felt like crying. She couldn't cry though, not in front of Warren. Her eyes seemed to ignore her wishes and tears started to fall down her cheeks. Soon there were rivers and she turned her head away. This was too much, for this to happen with everything else. What she did mange to hold back though, was crying out as her tears ran down her cheeks. "Hey, hey, baby I'm sorry," Warren cooed and he guided her head back to his again. She kept her eyes away from his gaze and he didn't try to make her look at him. Then he did the unexpected. He started to lick her tears and then licked her lips. Seeing as she didn't stop him, he took his chance and kissed her again. And this time, Shirley went in for it.

Whether it was her way of giving up or taking in the human contact out of desperation, or even both – she kissed him back. Taking a chance, Warren pried her mouth open with his tongue. She was hesitant at first but caved in. She felt his teeth against her lips again and she would be lying if she said it didn't hurt a little bit. Mouths open and lip locked, well 'mouth-locked', Shirley kissed Warren. Warren White. The Great White. She kissed her patient. And sure as hell, he kissed the hell out of her.

But it was cut short with a loud knock to the door. Quicker then she could process the thought, Shirley pulled herself away. And Warren let her bounce off his lap. Getting up and looking towards Shirley, he walked casually over to her. Expecting another kiss, he surprised her with a lick to her cheek. He opened the door, gave her one last smirk and was gone for the day.

Oh shit. What the hell had she just done?


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Wow, big, big gap. What can I say? Year 12 is just as scary, if not more, than I thought it would be. In a bit over a month, it'll be even worse. But no matter what, I will finish this story. Thanks for the reviews last chapter guys, it was um, hard to write. It also happened to be my real, kind of, fluff. But I don't even think you can call it that, it wasn't sunshine and rainbows. Anyways! I am pretty excited about this chapter and the next one. I got to work pretty closely with a certain Batman comic. And I've changed it a bit, expanded it, too, to fit BAA, so enjoy! Read and review!**

**The Jackel: Oh damn. You have no idea how bad your review makes me feel bad. Thanks for reviewing, as always, I love them.**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

"Come on, it wasn't that bad!"

"I'm afraid, it was that bad," Shirley said, her mouth hinting at a smile. For the first time in weeks, Lewis had gotten her to have a break. She had promised to go to the movies with him but the fact that she hadn't cancelled out was great. They had just seen an action film and Lewis was going on about how good it was. To this, Shirley disagreed. It was fun to have this discussion purely because they were really divulging in too much detail and over analyzing an action movie made for explosions. Walking out the cinema, hand in hand, they made their way towards Lewis's car.

"So, you tired?" Lewis smirked, looking down to their joined hands. He gave them a swing to get her to reply; she giggled lightly.

"Not too much," she replied, looking down at the footpath. He pulled her closer and wrapped his arm around her waist. It was good to see her this way, calm and laid back, something he suspected only he saw. They had had to park a few streets away from the cinema. It was now about ten at night, but when they had gone in, it had been around six. Thus, parking was hell. Shirley was quiet, but seemed peaceful. He had gotten her to get off work early and that was also amazing. He bent down and kissed her left ear. He was happy that she was happy. Well, looked happy. She was a hard girl to decipher.

Shirley was happy, happy as she could be. From what her mum had told her, her dad had been a little better the last few days and had been able to see some of his friends. But as happy as she felt, she still felt guilty and was stressed as hell. But tonight, she was pretending that everything was okay. That her dad was fine, that she had no calls from the bank and hospital and that she was happy in her job. As they walked back to his car, Shirley got the oddest feeling. Wrapped up in Lewis's arm, she tried to not seem too obvious as she turned around. There was someone following them.

"Lewis," she whispered pulling his head down, to make it look like they were kissing. He gave her a sloppy kiss then replied.

"Yes," he sighed, pleased.

"I think someone is following us," she whispered again, the frantic look now present in her eyes again. Being as subtle as a sledgehammer, Lewis turned around, turning his whole head and half his body.

"No babe, no one is there," he replied, and looked forward again. Shirley knew it though; she had that odd feeling a lot nowadays. The drive home was nice and at the stops Lewis rested a free hand on Shirley's thigh. Shirley was still a little uneasy but wanted to push it out of her head; she didn't want it to ruin her night. Pulling up at her apartment block, they headed up to her apartment, Lewis stealing a few kisses on the way up. Stepping through the door, Shirley dropped her bag on a low table near the front door.

"Thanks for the movie, as bad as it was," she said, turning to Lewis. He was just staring at her though, with a strong gaze. He closed the door behind him and swayed over to her. She smiled and went to talk but he grabbed her, pulling her to him. He kissed her fiercely and moved his hands up her waist, to her cheeks. After a long kiss, he pulled away and looked down at her flushed face.

"It's alright." He moved his hands down to her waist again and smiled again, going in for another kiss. Shirley never, to this day understood how someone could decipher the taste of someone's mouth when they kissed them. Seriously. If they had eaten food, sure, a smoker, definitely or chewing gum, then she was sure there would be some strawberry or mint. But yet, Lewis did have his own little 'taste'. It was so gross to think about, though. How could all those damsels have a strawberry, or honey tasting mouth? For Shirley, if she _was_ a man, then that kind of 'taste' would get annoying. Fast. She hoped she didn't have a taste, wait did she? Pushing Lewis back, she had to ask the question.

"Lewis-"

"Shirley, why'd you stop?" He groaned slightly, trying to pull her back.

"Does my mouth taste like strawberries?"

"You know, that is one question I would have never expected to come from you," he teased, as he stroked the sides of her waist. She frowned, edging him to respond. "Honestly, if you ate a strawberry or had some chewing gum then maybe yes." That was enough for the both of them, so Shirley initiated the next kiss, pulling him down to her level. Her fingers weaved in to her hair and Lewis directed them towards the bedroom. He was pulling at the hem of her shirt as soon as they passed the threshold of the room. Then Shirley pulled back and pushed him on to the bed, Lewis smiling eagerly. He pulled off his shirt and reached out for her, pulled at the top of her jeans until she was in between both of his legs. Slowly, he pulled up her shirt and gave her scattered kisses across her chest and tummy. When the shirt was gone he latched his lips on to hers, pulling her forward. He lent back, pulling her on top of him but rolled them over so he was on top. Again he started to kiss down her neck to her chest and she sighed, grabbing his hair.

Ding.

Shirley opened her eyes and jumped up, making Lewis fall on to the other side of her. Her heart let out a quick burst of adrenaline and she searched for a shirt, grabbing one of Lewis's discarded t-shirts from the floor. Someone was at the door, at a quarter to eleven at night. She didn't want to think; only open the door to make sure it wasn't what - who she thought it to be.

"Shirley ignore it, it's probably someone trying to sell us something," Lewis said in an annoyed tone from the bed. Shirley ignored him and left the room, making him follow her. Shirley checked herself quickly in the mirror and opened the door. There was a man, young and Italian looking, blankly looking at her. He was dressed in a dark suit and had a sharp look about him. His dark hair was slicked back and his arms were behind his back. Shirley opened the door a little wider, reveling Lewis to the man. The man frowned at Lewis but brought his attention to the baffled Shirley. Pulling out both his arms in to view, she saw he was holding an assortment of liliums and white roses and in the other hand, a rectangular box.

"Miss. Shirley Gibbs?" He asked, though it seemed like he didn't really need her confirmation.

"Yes, what is this?"

"These are for you," he stated, handing them over to her, which she struggled to take in one hand as she kept her other hand on the door.

"Shirley, who is that?" Lewis called from behind her, but Shirley ignored him. Who the hell was this guy? And why was he handing her this stuff.

"Are these from you?" Shirley asked slowly, readjusting the gifts.

"No, I am just delivering them," he replied.

"Then can you tell me to whom they are from?" She tried asking again. Who the hell delivered flowers and a, a box to someone at this time of night?

"That, Miss. Gibbs, is all I can tell you," he answered and with a quick bow of his head, he was off. Shirley looked down the corridor and watched him leave. Closing the door slowly, she circled to Lewis.

"What is that?"

"I don't know." The box, though not too big, was heavy. Ignoring Lewis once again, she made her way to the kitchen and dropped the flowers to the bench. Opening the box carefully, she gasped. Opening it completely, her eyes widened. Inside the box was a bracelet, full of diamonds. Picking it up from the box, she felt her heart rate increase again. This was beautiful but she couldn't have it.

"Holy shit!" Lewis said loudly, after he followed her in to the kitchen. She placed the box down on the counter and ran her fingers along the diamonds imbedded in to the bracelet. "Shirley, can I have a look?"

She nodded and handed the heavy bracelet to him, which he carefully took. He turned it over a few times, inspected the jewels closely. Finally he took it back, an arm's length away and gave a big outtake of breath. "This is some pretty mint-oh platinum, and these diamonds, they're all real."

"Well, um," she stuttered, looking nervously at the bracelet. There was no denying it; the thing was real. Every diamond embedded into it, real. She didn't know anyone that had this money to throw around, and she didn't have that many friends. Hell, this looked like a piece of jewelry that wasn't for sale, only for rent. Even then, it would still be too pricy.

"Who the hell is this from? I mean seriously, what the fuck is this?" he yelled, grasping the bracelet tightly and shaking it in front of her face. Shirley just couldn't believe it, a diamond and platinum bracelet for her. It was as beautiful and gorgeous as it was creepy. She ignored Lewis, and looked down to the box for any piece of paper or identification. She wasn't a fool to think that they had gotten the wrong address. It was one thing to get the 'wrong' address and get the person's name right. She just couldn't buy that. There was nothing in the box and Shirley groaned, as Lewis continued to go on at her.

"Lewis."

"Diamonds, diamonds, you know you can't accept this! Why did you take it off him?" Lewis went on as he dropped the bracelet back in to its box.

"I don't know, alright?" She groaned, covering her face with her hands. All she needed right now was for Lewis to tell her off; she was doing it enough to herself.

"I swear, you could fool me sometimes; you don't act very smart."

The hands hiding from her face dropped and she glared at Lewis.

"Lewis, how does this remedy this situation?" She asked picking up the flowers absent-mindedly, turning them around.

"Well that's better, you are acknowledging that this is a _situation_," he replied sarcastically as he crossed his arms. Like he needed to emphasize the situation even more, Shirley sneered in her head. Dangling the bouquet of flowers in her hands, she saw something. It looked like paper! A small piece but it probably still held some information. Or anything really, even if it was just the card for the people who supplied the flowers. But, Lewis. If she took it out now, he'd start chiding and speaking down to her. Holding the flowers up to her face, she pushed her nose down on the note. The note was pushed further in to the abundance of flowers and was removed from sight. "Shirley?"

She sighed then looked over to him. "Yes?"

"Report this to the police, they'll find out – we can know who sent this," he said calmly, compared to his demeaning and angry tone before. Shirley wouldn't take any orders, though; she had enough of that at work! She didn't want it in her own home. But again, if she snapped, he would go back to yelling at her. So she took another approach.

"Lewis, I really don't know what to think right now. And I think right now, we are both too worked up-"

"Shirley, that's beside the point, we have to go _now_," he replied, emphasizing the urgency. Shirley tightened her hold on the flowers and let out a sigh. Placing the flowers on the counter, she sauntered up to Lewis and placed her hands on his chest.

"Please? Just, not tonight," she repeated softly, leaning her head against his chest. She felt guilty for making Lewis feel like the guilty one, like he was at fault for caring. But she just couldn't deal with this, not tonight. She felt him intake a breath, then let it out slowly. Not a moment later, his arms curled around her waist.

"Tomorrow," he agreed but the edge of his tone served as a reminder that it had the deal had to be followed through.

"Yes tomorrow." After that, after cuddling for a few more minutes, the _mood_ had well, died. And it was staying dead for the rest of the night. Lewis gave her a kiss on her forehead, as she looked down. He gave her a look before he left for their bedroom, a look he thought she would miss. A look of crumbling desperation. And fear, a sad, longing fear.

Shirley waited for him to leave the room and shut the door to the bedroom before she leant back on the counter. She hadn't missed it. Or more, she felt his gaze. And it hurt. It hurt so much. It hurt her to treat him this way, to exclude him. It was wrong, she shouldn't. She should be truthful with him. But that was something that she just couldn't do. No matter what. Not with her father and her career. It was selfish, she knew this. And the guilt, the pain, the look he gave her, had nearly stopped her.

Rubbing a hand on her distraught face, she turned towards the counter and ran her fingers across the petals of one of the white roses. They were beautiful. Checking over her shoulder one more time, that the light was off in their room, she pulled the note out. Whilst yanking it free, she cried out at a sudden feeling of pain on her hand. It burnt, like needles, all across her right hand. Carefully pulling it back out with the note, her eyes widened. All over her hand were small cuts. Peeking in to where she had pulled the note from, she saw that the roses' thorns had not been pruned. She found it odd but didn't think about it for too long. Bringing the now bloodied note with her, she scuttled carefully to the bathroom.

Dropping the note on the edge of the sink, she turned the cold tap on and washed out the cuts. Cut by the thorns on white roses, why hadn't they cut them off? Certainly, it wouldn't look good for the business…if she knew who they were. Even though she had washed them, they continued to bleed. For now, she would have to bandage her hand. So she applied some antiseptic cream and wrapped her hand up, pinning it in to place. The cream burned but after a minute or so, it calmed. Looking at the note, she unfolded it with the greatest of care. At first, she was confused. It wasn't a message she would have expected but then again, neither was getting a diamond bracelet out of the blue. Two words, hand-written elaborately but readable, were two words.

_Wear it_.

Not from a secret admirer, though she would almost be just as confused if she got something like that. Not even a '_With love_'. No, this message was telling her to wear it, the bracelet. Maybe there was something else? Something that she had missed. Another note perhaps? Walking back to the kitchen, she was careful to search the bouquet for another note. But it was just the roses and liliums. It was late and she wasn't tired. Whatever, she said in her head. She needed something to do, to keep her mind of not only Lewis and her father, but now having to deal with the police again. Work. The paperwork, documents, just plain old work from Arkham was like a waterfall. Daunting, powerful and at any moment, can was you straight away.

Whilst waiting for her laptop to start up, she was left with her thoughts again. Money was short for her father. And she hadn't talked to her mother in two days. Before she could sink further in to her thoughts, she heard the welcome tune from her laptop and giddily got ready for another night of work. Rather sooner than later, Shirley deiced that it was best to get on to Warren's interview plan. The summaries were just as hard, put she'd get to that later. Doing it out of order, of course.

Finally the Internet browser had loaded up and she went to log in to the Arkham Asylum server. An error popped up. No server to answer the request. Frustrated, she reloaded the page and tried to sign in again. She was met with the same blank error page. Reload. Error. Reload. Error. Slamming the screen down in frustration and sighing, Shirley had lost her chance to get distracted – no to work. To work. What hell was she meant to do now? Opening the laptop back up, she closed the browser and glanced at the time. It was only eleven, still enough time to get to work. It was late but she had a legitimate reason!

Packing up her laptop and her bag for a night of work, she left a posted note on Lewis's bedside table. He wouldn't understand, but she would still leave him a note nonetheless. Taking one look at the slumbering Lewis, she left the apartment block and raced to her car. She had been parking her car in the street recently, as she used it the most. Lewis was parking his car in her spot in the car park, which was logical as he caught buses most of the time. The heavy door slammed behind her as she walked down the street.

She secured her heaviest bag on her shoulder, her laptop on the other and had stuffed her handbag in the heaviest one. Since she was going in so late, wearing a pair of her comfier shoes seemed fair enough. It was late and that also meant less traffic when heading up in to Arkham – which was _always_a relief. Whilst walking down to her car, she stopped for a moment. Peeking over her shoulder she noticed that the costume store was still open. Lights on and open sign with its old welcome message. She didn't know of many costume stores that were open at this time, and she knew this one wasn't. Actually, maybe there had been a change in management. Oh, it hit her. Best to keep walking. _Those_ kinds of costume stores would open at this time.

The ride to Arkham was quiet and smooth. Shirley actually found it nice to drive to Arkham at this time, not many cars and mostly, less people to deal with whilst getting to her office. And Harley. Well, in actual fact, Harley hadn't been an issue. Surprising Shirley, the woman had become invisible. She had asked Westler once, as it was getting near to two weeks. Sick leave. That though, she felt some doubt. Not to say that Harley was punctual normally, but with the reappearance of the Joker, she had expected the opposite behavior. Not a word, nothing. The Joker was still recovering, only once having a short interview with Westler. He had a broken arm and a small fracture on the left side of his jaw, with a few nasty bruises. Pulling in to Arkham, the expected beam of light shot out from the gate and scanned her car.

But then again, maybe Harley was just – shaken up? Shirley again felt the deep stir of doubt. Harley couldn't have expectations. You couldn't expect anything of her. Only one. For her to be unpredictable. Shaking her head, she glanced at one of the screens above her head, with a spinning Arkham logo. Why didn't they have the time? Honestly, she thought, they spend all this money on new security and technology but no clocks? Her shoulders were already beginning to stiffen up, so she tried to quicken her pace without losing her balance.

BOOM!

The sudden sound caught Shirley by surprise. Her lighter bag had slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor. She cursed. Picking it up, she was soon thrown to the floor again with a louder and stronger force.

BOOM!

The vibrations of the loud force shook the solid floor beneath her. Oh, please, Shirley said fearfully in her head. Carefully, she picked herself up. In a place like Arkham, 'boom' noises weren't good. In general, they weren't, but especially here. Now running to the source of the sound and force, an acrid smell invaded her nose harshly. Burning. There was smoke rising above her head and lights were flashing. Someone screamed and then there was a shot. Her heart clenched in her chest and without another thought, she was right up against the nearest wall.

Intensive Treatment. It should have clicked sooner. There were the normal alert alarms, which occasionally went off but were nothing serious. Then there was the Intensive Treatment alarms, which rarely went off. But, then there was the Intensive Treatment, category nine patient alarms. And right now, that's what was buzzing and burning inside her ears. Someone important had just broken free. Someone dangerous. Clutching her bags closer to her body, she was at a loss of what to do. The guards should be here, right? But there had been those booms, which were most likely explosions.

Suddenly, she heard movement. Another shot was fired. A thump. They had a gun. Carefully, she placed her bags up against the wall and slid back up the wall. Shirley wasn't feeling brave; she just wasn't feeling safe. Slowly, she slid along the wall, closer to the open door. A steady stream of smoke was flowing out of the room, a mixture of different burning smells. Metal, paper, plastic and something else, she didn't know what it was but it was the worst. Just before she turned her head, a sound much more frightening and chilling then a boom ran through the air. A cackling laughter. But it was different, and it scared Shirley. Her heart tightened, clenching in the terror as the realization dawned upon her. Oh God. It was _Harley_.

Her hands felt clammy and the room felt even hotter. Shaking, she peeked around the corner. It was worse, so much worse. The other smell was _flesh_. Guards lay amongst rubble and burning pieces of metal, burnt themselves. She hoped, for their sakes, that they were dead. The burns were horrific. Shirley couldn't see Harley, but she knew that she was in there. There was only one person that was down this heavily guarded area. Joker.

What could she do? Shirley didn't know whether to get to a phone and call more guards or just – just let them escape. How many guards had already died here? They needed Batman! Oh she'd never felt this before, the desperation to have Batman right here. To make it okay. For now though, she was on her own. Could she walk down there? Shirley didn't doubt that Harley would kill her if she desired it. Another laughter was heard, a male one. Joker was with her. More yells echoed and bounced off the walls in to her ears. Followed by shots and sickening laughter. It was coming closer. Quickly she started to run down the corridor, but the sounds were getting closer. The laughter was getting closer.

"Haahahaahaaaa!" Joker laughed and it was close. He wheezed a bit after laughing and Shirley heard a cooing sound. Taking a deep breath of air in, her chest hitched. Even with the thudding of the alarm, it was loud.

"Ohh, what was _that_?" Joker said, his voice picking up. Shirley started to panic. Get away. Now. She started to run but she could hear them on her trail, Harley keeping up more. Shirley wasn't fit though, not compared to Harley. Harley must have got bored with just running, because in the next moment Shirley heard what sounded like marbles hitting the floor, hundreds. With nothing to grip, Shirley lost her footing. She fell to the ground harshly and groaned. The marbles were digging in to her skin, everywhere and her legs were burning.

"Shirls?" For moment, she sounded like the old Harley. Turning her head, Shirley looked up and her eyes widened. This wasn't the old Harley. The old Harley was gone a long time ago, now you could just see it. Harley was in a tight latex jumpsuit, with a black and red design and a latex corset with the same colours. She, she looked like a harlequin. On her jumpsuit, the right leg was red, with a styled black boot and her left was black with a red boot and four red diamonds on her thigh. The corset was a mixture of red and black. Her torso was split in to two, the left being red all the way down her arm to a black glove with white frills. The right, black, with a red glove and frills. Slowly, looking up her face, she saw Harley.

Those moments when she had cracked, it had been the real Harley. This was Harley. Her face had been painted white, with a matching red lipstick and a black mask painted around her eyes.

"Har-ley?"

"Harley Quinn!" She corrected, giving Shirley a swift kick to her stomach. Shirley cried out and curled in on herself. Joker laughed again. Then she felt a warm, gloved hand on her face.

"Oh Shirls, I didn't mean that," Harley apologized in a sweet voice, making Shirley panic more. The hand stroked her cheek softly and leant down. Shirley whimpered as Harley ran her lips down the same cheek, biting it finally. Shirley tried to shuffle away, however Harley latched a hand on to her chin and turned Shirley's face towards her down. "What's wrong?" Shirley eyes jumped all over her face, scared and lost for words. Harley kept looking at her smiling, but soon it dropped when she saw that Shirley was too scared. Grasping her hair tightly, Harley pulled her up harshly as she stood, making Shirley scream. "Mistah J!"

Shirley looked out of the corner of her eye to see that Joker had stumbled over to them and was leaning on the wall for support. His smile was ablaze though.

"Sharky's little fish!" He laughed, clapping his leg. Harley didn't join in on the laughter, though she was smiling. Again, she crouched down, relieving some of the pressure on Shirley's scalp. Harley ran a finger down her other cheek, dragging it near the end. Leaning in so their noses were touching, Harley giggled then moved over to her shoulder.

"Oh Shirls, I won't forget you," Harley breathed in her ear and started giggling. Shirley's eyes were burning, as was her throat, but she wouldn't cry. She might have come this low, but she wouldn't cry in front of them. There were some yells echoing down the corridors and Harley dropped Shirley's head, slapping the side of her face. "Time to go puddin'!"

Shirley lay there whilst the pair quickly hobbled away. Held down by the fear Harley would come back, Shirley moved herself over to the closest wall and stayed there, holding her legs to her chest. The person she had come to Arkham with, at the same time, the same status, had _lost_ it. Harley had fallen to victim to Joker and now they, were, were, together! What was going to happen to her? Was she doomed as well?

No.

On shaky legs, Shirley raised her sore body. Avoiding the marbles on the floor, she walked back slowly to where her bags were. The area was swarmed with guards and policemen were flowing in. As soon as one of the guards saw me, she rushed over.

"Dr. Gibbs!" She cried, standing in front of Shirley. Shirley must have looked worse then she felt, because before she knew it, guards and policemen surrounded her. It was too much. Silently, she started to cry. Unknown to Shirley, her lip had been split with Harley's farewell slap and her other cheek was bleeding from the bite. Her face was covered in red lipstick smudges, and small circular bruises were beginning to form on her face. The tears mixed with the blood and Shirley resisted the urge to start moving her chest with the tears. Her chest was aching inside. It all hurt. And everyone was asking her questions. It hurt. It was too much.

"Move away!" A familiar voice yelled, stilling most of the questions. Shirley looked up to see the tall and broad frame of the Commissioner. She felt pathetic, crying in front of all these people. In front of her colleagues, in front the police and the Commissioner. Hesitantly, he put a large warm on her shoulder and motioned for them to walk away. Making a stop to pick up her bags, the same female guard said she would take them to her office. Usually she would politely decline, but right now it definitely wasn't the 'usual'.

So an hour later, she was at the Medical Facility, her cuts cleaned, her face washed and a bruised rib diagnosed. Her spilt lip wasn't too severe, so it just needed some surgical glue and a clear bandage. The bruised rib hurt a lot. Shirley winced when she walked, especially with the bandage around her middle. Right now, she was lying on a bed in a small room. It was the small part of the Medical Facility for injured staff. She was thankful, staying in a bed where the inmates had been – she was thankful. Commissioner Gordon had been asking her questions, as had two other police officers with him to record and write down what she said, whilst the other informed the Commissioner of the night's events.

"Has Ms. Quinnzel or the Joker shown interest in you before?" This was a question that she hoped he wouldn't ask.

"Not the Joker."

"But Quinnzel has?"

"We came to Arkham at the same time, just finished University," Shirley said finally, looking down her laced fingers. Harley wasn't a friend, never had been. But they had come in together, there was that link. Aside from Westler, she had talked to Harley the most. She couldn't ignore that. "We weren't friends, but we talked," she trailed off.

"And has she ever acted like that before? Like tonight?" The Commissioner continued, trying to get Shirley to reveal more. Shirley paused then. There had been, that time, her suspicions. Fear swirled in her stomach, halting her mind. They would link it. They would link her back Warren. And that, that was something she couldn't do.

"No."

"Well Dr. Gibbs, thank you. I wish you a speedy recovery," he replied, getting up from his chair. The two other policemen left the room, leaving the Commissioner. Shirley didn't reply. "I'm sorry to say, but you can't leave Arkham, not tonight."

"Lockdown?"

"Yeah and probably for the next day. No one leaves, no one comes in," he explained and Shirley nodded. Turning her head to the side, she breathed out carefully.

"Do you have anyone you want to call before I leave?" He asked from the door, looking back at her.

"No." She then closed her eyes, feigning sleep. The Commissioner paused, and looked on her gravely. With a final glance, he left, shutting the door behind him quietly. Shirley peeked out of her one of eyes, to him gone. Pulling the clean and sterile smelling blankets up to her chin, she breathed out again. It didn't help though.

_Oh Shirls, I won't forget you._

It was burned in to her head. She kept hearing Harley say it over and over. The blankets around her didn't bring the warmth she wanted, though. She wanted to be held. She wanted to be held by protection and power. Tears ran down her cheeks and she sniffled. She wanted to be held by Warren. And it scared her more than Harley.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Even with the majority of this story planned out, things change. This is actually a chapter where this now nothing planned for it. I've changed my mind about what was originally going to be in the chapter and now well, it was all improvised. It kind of wrote itself, but still important. So enjoy this chapter! Thank you for the reviews. Read and review!**_**Jazz**_

**P.S. I can never thank my amazing and patient beta enough,**_**Night Monkey**_**, please check out her stories – if you haven't already!**

**P.P.S. Psychologists aren't actually 'doctors'. Once they become a psychiatrist – they get that lovely**_**Dr.**_**But here I'm hoping I get some poetic license.**

**And finally, replies:**

**me:** **Thank you for your review. I do have a beta, but perhaps you missed that I didn't have one until chapter 6? I am focusing on finishing the story first, and then I will go back to edit the first lot of chapters. I'm sorry that you feel Shirley is lacking in personality and is a 'frigid bitch'. I must say though I have never claimed that she **_**isn't **_**a bitch. Writing a character like this is a challenge. She's not easily likeable (though I somehow, have found a spot for her in my heart) but think of it this way. If I wrote her similarly to all the other OCs, then why try at all? It would be a replica. This is not a happy story and Shirley is not a happy person. She's cold, calculating but she is still human. Alas, I am sorry that I have lost a reader but I am not sorry about how I have written Shirley.**

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

Shirley really thought she could deal with the pain. After it hit four thirty-two AM though, she felt some doubt. A lot actually. Even with the extreme tiredness she felt, the pain kept her just awake. The alarms had stopped a while ago, though they had still gone on for over an hour. She hadn't called Lewis. And she really wanted to roll over, but she was stuck with looking up at the ceiling. Only some of the injured guards had come back here; most of them had to be taken to Gotham Hospital. The staff wing didn't have enough space and the inmate wings were a no go zone. She sighed.

Lewis. He would be so angry – _furious_. And he wouldn't hold back on the 'I-told-you-so' lines. And for her parents, she just didn't want to tell them. She could tell her mother, later though. The marbles had left small circular bruises on one side of her face and she could feel some on her legs and torso. Even though they were small, there were a lot of them. Pulling herself up carefully in the bed and cringing, Shirley decided that if she couldn't sleep now, she was going to have exhaust herself. Throwing the blankets off herself and swinging off the bed with care, she looked around for her clothes. The medical nightgown wasn't going to be suitable attire.

It took a little while and a few gasps, but Shirley got dressed. The only problem was her shoes; she was going to need some help with that. She sat there for a moment. The thought of padding around in her bare feet at Arkham gave her enough incentive to get up. Hobbling out of the room, a nurse helped her get her socks and shoes on. It was embarrassing and Shirley almost regretted asking for help. A doctor popped in to the room briefly, telling her to be careful and advised her to take a week off. A week off however, was a week without pay. And a week without pay meant not helping her Dad in the one way she could.

In a way, Arkham was kind of 'closed' for the next few days. Shirley couldn't leave. What was confusing her was that she wasn't sure if she _wanted_ to leave. Harley was going to find her again. For what reason, it evaded Shirley. The woman was insane, that was reason enough, wasn't it though? She remembered that someone had taken her bags to her office. Phew. Even though Shirley had admitted to herself that she was in pain and that yes, she was struggling to keep in perspective, she knew she was nothing next to the guards. There were moans, whimpers and other sounds, which she didn't want to linger on. This breakout, it was a fresh reminder that the some of the inmates weren't only insane, but insane geniuses. It took events like this to really remind Arkham and Gotham.

Wait – Gotham.

Lewis.

Shirley felt a pang of nervousness in her chest explode and her steps halted. There was no way she could dodge this impending 'conversation'. The police would be involved this time. There would be more questioning. Something concerned Shirley, though. Made her feel strange, off. She couldn't let them find out everything. The flowers, the bracelet, Warren! Was there anything to hide? She wasn't a _bad_person. She was just in a bad situation. No, no! There was nothing wrong. There was nothing to hide, nothing to tell. Shirley paused in her thoughts and smiled lightly. How were any, any of her fears related to Joker's breakout? Simple, they weren't. Except for Warren – that didn't make her connected at all! From what she could tell, Harley, _Harley_ had done all this. It was her doing. Shirley was the victim. The victim.

* * *

Shirley didn't call Lewis. Not straight away anyway. No, she trudged along to her office and sunk in to the couch, closing her eyes for a moment. Already, she felt better and her head was more ordered. Hearing a familiar noise and buzz, she opened her eyes and saw her bags on top of a clear part of her desk. For a moment, she decided to ignore it. Then reality hit her in the face again. Rushing to her bag, she whimpered with the burst of pain from her chest. Grabbing it at last, she answered it in her casual tone.

"Hello-" The casual greeting was cut off by a loud and worried voice.

"Shirley! Oh God, you are alive."

"Lewis?" Panic and adrenaline flooded through her with one pulse and she was on edge.

"Do you have any, any idea how long I have been trying to get on to you? Not to mention your mother!" Her mother, her father. Her dad. Oh, no, no, no – this wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

"Lewis I-" she tried to begin explaining, something. Anything. Just stop him talking. She couldn't take it. Images of her mother, her dad, not knowing if their only child were alive made her feel sick.

"Shit, do you know how worried I was? I thought, I thought," he cursed, his voice breaking near the end, stopping him from continuing. Guilt washed over her, making her feel dizzy with the adrenaline.

"Lewis, -" Shirley tried to cut in again.

"Just for once, for once if you had listened-" he started to berate her harshly.

"LEWIS! Will you please let me say something?" she yelled, her own voice breaking near the end. Tears made their way down her round cheeks and she sniffled. For a few minutes, all that could be heard on the line was the heavy breathing from the both of them as they calmed down somewhat. When Shirley felt she had control over her voice again, she continued. "I was in the medical wing for most of the night and early morning, I only just got-"

"So what, you couldn't find another phone, someone to get a phone for you-"

"You won't even give me a chance to explain!" she yelled into the phone and winced at another burst of pain. Carefully, she sat down in her desk chair and rolled it in to the desk so she could lean her elbows on it. "Lewis, I, I could barely move," she said softly this time, dropping her head down to her spare hand. Lewis was breathing more evenly now, but he still seemed to be having trouble controlling himself. "How much do you know?"

"I know that the Joker broke out, with the help of his own doctor," he replied, his voice sounding removed and Shirley felt for the first time upset by his apparent coldness. She explained though. From driving her car in, to the smell of the guards, to Harley kicking her. The warmth returned to his voice eventually, but he still sounded deeply upset and hurt by her actions. Shirley knew that she still could have made an effort. Lewis voiced it too. Even with the guilt of him and her parents, she avoided it.

"Lewis, how is my mum? My, dad?"

"She hasn't told him, but it sounds like he's not an idiot," he explained, making Shirley smile just a little bit. Her father wasn't the smartest person in the world, but socially, there wasn't another person as sharp as him. Lewis was talking again, and Shirley asked him to repeat. "I want you home. I want you next to me in bed. I want you to not go back to work."

"You know I can't do that-"

"I'm not talking about right now. And you know that." The conversation ended shortly after that, leaving Shirley more confused than comforted and informed. What the hell could she do now? She didn't think she had the guts to call her mother. Lewis said he would anyways. But her father, she wanted to talk to him. At the same time, she knew that she might break. He would know that something was wrong, he always did. Turning her computer on, it seemed that the servers were on lockdown as well. That included her laptop. There wasn't a thing to do. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to tell herself that. There was one thing to do.

* * *

Despite being at Arkham for near a year now, she had rarely ventured down to Warren's cell. Security was tight, tighter than usual, but they did let her past. Warren was one of the lower security inmates, meaning whilst security was tight, it was easier to get to him. What in the world was she doing here? Honestly, what would she do when she got there? The sick feeling she had wouldn't go away. It would get worse. When she got to his block, she found it odd to see Rocco there. Odd for two reasons. Firstly, she knew that he would have been reassigned to help with the police or a search party. Secondly, because he always seemed to be with Warren. Weren't the guards cycled through? Maybe now wasn't the best time. Her feet stopped moving and she went to turn around.

"Shirley?" Rocco's deep Italian accent flowed through her ears and she faced him. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I thought that," she started, shaky, but not too baldly. Too bad that she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Oh! Are you here to question Warren? I'll let you right through," he said with a smile and placed a hand on her elbow. Question Warren? About what, Joker? Shirley noted how Rocco had called Warren, well, _Warren_. It sounded weird to actually hear his first name out loud. It was…human. Almost normal. Before she knew it, Rocco was opening Warren's cell.

"Rocco?"

"I'll wait outside, you knock when you are done." He pushed her inside with a charming smile and the door was closed and locked. Warren was lying on his bed, his back leaning against the wall and his arms behind his head. No, she shouldn't be here. No, she should be back in her office, waiting this all out. Even, even on the phone to her mother. And her dad. She didn't notice Warren had gotten up, until she felt a cold finger running down her cheek. Jumping slightly and then jerking back, she saw he was right in front of her.

"Oh my darling, your face," he cooed with a somber expression and touched her face again. Shirley didn't say a word, didn't move. Her eyes were locked with his brown orbs. His gaze was intense. Here in his cell, the control was even more in his disfigured hands. The only control or power that she had was Rocco and even then it didn't feel like anything. Soon Warren had a disfigured hand on either side of her face and was looking down to her, eyes still gazing at hers. She raised her hands up slowly, to push him away but quickly, he had her up against one of the walls in his cell. His fingers were now interwoven with her hair, but not painfully. Carefully, he pulled her hair down and she looked at his face again.

"You, my dear, had me worried," he said, quite simply. Shirley's eyes widened and the muscles in her face felt loose. He, of course, noticed and chuckled, rubbing circles into her skull. "Surprised, are we?" he said as he lowered his hands to her neck. Shirley pushed her hands up against his chest again, frantically this time. What the shit had she been thinking? Really? It was one thing to be in Warren's cell, even after the Joker just broke out but the fact that he broke out because his own psychologist did it! Her voice hitched and tears ran down her face again. Her face felt flushed and she shut her eyes in embarrassment. The fingers slowed and slid down further, to her waist.

She shivered. His tongue was licking away her stray tears. He dragged his tongue down her cheek and across her lips. For what reason, she opened her mouth. Even his tongue was cold, making her shiver again. Licking her teeth, he then slid his tongue over hers. Oh, she was scared. But right now, she felt safe. Pulling away from his tongue, Shirley took action this time. She latched her arms around his neck and tucked her head in, crying. She didn't hold back. Warren was there, her safety. It made her sick at the same time. It made her feel guilty. Not just because he was her patient, but because of Lewis. Honest, kind, caring Lewis that had had been brought to tears because of her. But here she was, in her pati- _Warren's_ arms, feeling the solace she was craving.

Even now, she couldn't align herself with Harley. No, not when Warren laced his arms under bum and picked her up, walking over to his bed and sitting down. Not when he started to lick the side of her face again. She was different, she was better. Eventually, Shirley's breath evened out and her tears slowed down to sniffles. Whilst she felt solace, she also felt embarrassment. She was sitting across Warren's lap, with her arms around his neck and he was stroking circles around in her lower back and leaning his head against hers.

"What is happening?" For the first time, she said what she was really thinking to Warren. On one level, she felt some release for finally doing it. On the other, it was like opening a door. Before, she could still walk back down the path she had been taken down. Now though, she had opened the door. It was the door to the limit, the barrier.

"Well, you are in my cell, sitting across my lap, on my bed, with your arms around me," he answered softly into her ear.

"Warren," she said firmly, untangling her arms from his neck, now sitting on his lap.

"Well there now, it's different," he remarked with a smirk, as he moved his hands to her hips. Shirley made a move to get up but he pulled her back done. "Hey, hey, dear don't go ruining the moment now."

"Why – why do this?" This time, she really did get up and stood in the opposite corner, near the door. Warren sighed and moved to sit on the edge of his bed, arms dangling from his knees.

"You ask all the wrong questions. Right now, my darling shine, don't you think there are more…pressing matters?" he observed, lacing the few fingers he had together. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he knew about Joker breaking out. But that wasn't what she thought he was leaning towards. The people that had found her knew something had happened involving Joker and a selected few knew what had really happened. The rest she guessed though could make their own connections. But the inmates. She prayed that they didn't know. The mere thought of the inmates, not just her patients, knowing who she was, scared her shitless. Inmates like Scarecrow, Poison Ivy or even…Killer Croc.

"Joker breaking out-"

"That will always happen, always," he cut her off and got up, coming towards her again, "no it's more interesting _how_ he broke out this time – don't you agree?"

"The police and the Warden can't give out too many details, we've been told that he had help," Shirley found herself explaining and dropped her gaze.

"And the sky is blue, my dear. The help was one of your colleagues! Someone you know," he stated clearly, stepping closer and closer to her. Looking back up, her heart sped up. There was a look in his eyes that chilled her. Soon enough, he had her against the wall and she held back a whimper as her rib ached sharply. Her mind was racing.

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel," he continued, his voice lower, "none other than his own psychologist."

"How do you-"

"That darling, though, isn't my _main_ concern," he continued, entwining one of her curls around one of his fingers. He knew. Somehow, he knew. The injuries were one thing, which meant she had been in the vicinity of the breakout, but she knew that he knew _exactly_ what had transpired. Shirley didn't know what to say, something that frequently happened with him. The mention of Harley made her fears feel raw again. Harley was with the Joker, really with him. This was not just the Joker breaking out; this was also Harley losing it. And she was going to come back to her. "Shirley?"

"Yes," she replied, avoiding his face again. Shirley had gotten used to the concept that even though she was used Warren's disfigurement, it still unsettled her. Had she accepted it? It was hard. There was different between accepting it and having no issues, compared to accepting that it would always bother you, but you had to get along with it.

"I can protect you." She felt cold fingers under her chin, push her head up. He was serious.

"What – why?" Her reply was fast, jumbled but sharp. His fingers dropped.

"Dr. Quinzel, or Harley Quinn, will be looking for you once the police have lost their leads," he said.

"Warren, I'm not sure what you are talking about," Shirley tried to slip back in to her old self, from months ago. Both parties, though, knew that she was long gone.

"Look darling, think about it this way, what about your parents? Your father?" Dad. Harley knew that her father was sick, terminal. Her mother. Lewis. This wasn't just her anymore. This was everyone that she cared about, that she loved.

"What do you mean by 'protection'?" The smirk that spread out on Warren's face was the biggest that she had seen yet and she had seen her fair share.

"You don't need to know anything, all you need to know is that you don't have to worry," he soothed, running a spare hand up and down her back. She needed to get out.

"I have to go."

"So soon? You only just got here," he whined, trailing another hand up and down her face. Turning her head to the side and lightly pushing Warren off her, she walked over to the door. Before she knocked, he spoke again. "If you need anything, my darling, you tell me. Anything."

She didn't look back. She knocked on the door and Rocco smiled brightly and let her out. Once back down in her office, she really slapped herself.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

* * *

So once again, Shirley was in her office, sitting at her desk, feeling incredibly exhausted. Physically and mentally. She had just called her mother. At the end of the call, it was agreed that Dad didn't need to know. It was still early in the morning, but her mother would be by her husband's side soon enough. Shirley was going to call back in two hours. So when her office phone rang, she jerked awake and answered it.

"Dr. Gibbs?" An older man's voice said quickly in to the line. The voice was so familiar! It was, it was – the Warden! The reason it was harder to recognize was because it was frantic – unlike the calm voice in the videos up on the screens around Arkham.

"Yes this is Dr. Gibbs," she replied, stifling a yawn. Oh, she was so tired now.

"Oh good, good. Are you busy?" The question was asked more out of politeness, but Shirley didn't really care.

"No, why?"

"Could you make your way over to my office then?"

"Certainly." She hung up then, not letting Warden Sharp slip in another question or word. Groaning, she patted herself down and rearranged her clothes. The Warden. Should she be surprised? This would really be the first time that she had talked to him, really talked. Anything before was pleasantries.

As she made her way over to Arkham Mansion, she saw just how much the guards and police were crawling over Arkham. They were everywhere. And desperate. If they didn't get something soon, then the Joker was free. For now, anyways. The doors to the mansion were wide open and so many people were swarming around. Coming in to the Warden's office, she gaped. It was huge. Oh, she could work in a space this big! The Warden called her over with a smile, but he looked stressed out of his mind.

"Oh Dr. Gibbs, how are you?"

"Well enough, I guess," she replied. The Commissioner was here as well.

"Good, why don't you take a seat?" Warden Sharp motioned over to a chair in front of his desk. It appeared that the Commissioner though, would remain standing. Sitting down in the seat, she also noted that this chair was comfier then all the chairs in her office put together.

"Now Dr. Gibbs, is there anything you want to add to what you told me the other day?" Gordon asked, as he crossed his arms and leant against the edge of the Warden's desk. Warden Sharp had settled himself down in to his chair, pulling it in as much as his belly would let him. What else would she have to say? Now that she looked back on it, she wished that she hadn't said so much.

"No."

"If you are sure, Dr. Gibbs," he sighed and looked over at the Warden, waiting for him to follow up.

"Ah yes, yes, now Dr. Gibbs my concern was, as well as the Commissioner's," Warden Sharp began, waving his hand over to the Commissioner, of whom nodded, "your welfare."

"My welfare? I know that isn't the most important thing right now," Shirley said, without thinking. Being someone who took their time to think out their replies, she felt her cheeks flush at her careless comment.

"Dr. Gibbs, you are a concern. You were the last person to interact with the Joker, with Quinzel," the Commissioner assured as he got up from the desk and stepped behind her chair.

"And were my answers not sufficient?" She'd done the right thing, hadn't she? They asked the questions, she had answered, they wanted details, and she had done her best to provide them. Shirley wasn't sure how much more she could take, not in such a short span of time. The constancy of her pulls of adrenaline was tiring her. Not mention her nerves were frayed.

"It's," Warden Sharp sighed and paused before continuing, "it's not that simple."

"How so?" No matter she felt though, she did her absolute best to uphold a calm demeanor.

"Your first day was Quinzel's first day, am I right?" the Commissioner questioned from behind her. For one of the first times in her life, Shirley was confused. Well, more like lost. What else was there?

"Yes," she replied slowly, looking at Warden Sharp and flicked her eyes to the edge of her seat, where she could see the Commissioner walking around to her front again.

"Were you not assigned to work together, to support each other?" He asked another question. They weren't asking these questions for answers, they already had them. What did they really want?

"As per Dr. Westler's and your request, am _I_ right?" she answered, mimicking Warden Sharp. The Warden fidgeted with his hands on the desk and looked down. No, no. They didn't want an answer from her – they were keeping something from her!

"Dr. Gibbs, you are a concern," Warden Sharp continued, sliding something across his desk, fidgeting.

"Why? Why am I a concern? Why not the guards in hospital, the injured staff?" Shirley didn't want to be a concern. She wanted to be the psychologist noted for her professional achievements. Not for _Harley_.

"Because none of them Dr. Gibbs, had connections," Commissioner Gordon continued from the Warden, "not like you."

"Commissioner," Shirley began, looking at him directly and pausing before continuing, "isn't this really a waste of time?"

"I would disagree, Dr. Gibbs," the Commissioner cut in. Shirley was really worried now. What did they mean by 'connections'? Oh please, please don't mean Warren.

"Dr. Gibbs, the reason that I have called for you to come here is that: you are the lead,"

"I am the 'lead'?" She repeated.

"Yes, you are our only real, solid lead," the Warden slowly answered, his voice shaky. There was something in his hands. Something in a clear, flat slip.

"To – Joker?" She proposed, flicking her eyes to Commissioner.

"And Quinzel," he added. Warden lifted the thing in his hands to the Commissioner who held it for a moment before handing it down to Shirley. It was a piece of paper, notepad paper, with blue lines across it. And there was a short message on it. She read it. Then she read it again. And again. And again. Then she tried to tell herself that there was some mistake.

_Dear Shirls,_

_If you are sneaking in my room again, I don't mind, really! I would have tried to peek in yours, but you are alwaaaaaaaaaaaaaays there, then well, I've got something to tell you. I'm in love, just like you! I know I'm in love, and I know you are in love 'cause we act the same so much._

_But, you aren't exactly the same. You are too sad and….._

…_..CONSTRICTED!_

_Don't worry thought. Never, ever, ever worry. I'll come back to you, and you'll be just like me._

_We'll be friends again and even better._

_Love and kisses,_

_Harley Quinn_

_P.S. Like the new sig? I think it's fab!_

Shirley lowered the sheet, inside the slip to her lap, but didn't raise her head. It was worse, it was so much worse. Harley thought that she was, that they were – friends! Good friends! Shirley wanted to cry. The tears were barely being held off and she placed a hand to her chest.

"What does this tell you, Commissioner?"

"A few things, but two come to mind," he replied, crossing his arms. "One of them is that, first and foremost, you are in danger. Joker is unpredictable and it seems, Harley Quinn as she seems to call herself, might just be the same." Shirley couldn't argue with that. Harley would come back for her, get to her anyway she could. She was unpredictable.

"And, the other?" Shirley breathed. The Commissioner stepped closer to her and picked the slip up.

"That you, and her, know something that no one else here does."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thank you reviewers. I am finishing school in November and under a lot of stress. I gave myself some undeserving time to write this though. Another quick note, I know I haven't made it clear but Lewis and Shirley have a sexual relationship, but I'm hoping as you can guess, it's not too great. Sorry for that! Read and review. **_**Jazz**_

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

"Mum?" Shirley's brow creased. They were in the lift, going back up to her father's room. In their hands were wholegrain sandwiches, egg and lettuce inside triangular plastic containers and a bottle of water each. Shirley's mother was quiet today. Quieter than usual.

"Oh sorry dear, it took a while to get to sleep last night," her mother replied with a half smile, but it dropped as soon as it had been raised. Her mother then let her head turn to the side. After Joker's breakout, Shirley had had to stay in Arkham on lockdown for a nearly two days. Still, she didn't visit her father until a week and a half later. Merely for the reason of the bruising and cut on her face. She felt robbed. Harley had robbed her of time with her dad.

With a ding, the doors opened and the two stepped out on their floor. Thoughts buzzed through her head. She missed the old times. No, they weren't the best. But she missed reading her books on the couch, in her baggy clothes and thick socks. She missed calling her dad when she wanted, and how he was always watching a game, but made time for her. She missed the order her life had, the structure and control. She missed when Dad was okay, when Mum nagged about her not getting out enough.

Also, she missed Lewis. He wasn't gone but she missed what their relationship could have been like. He was better than her.

They got back to her dad's room and started to eat their sandwiches. Right then, he was asleep. Shirley ate her sandwich quickly and took a few sips from her bottle. Her dad was different. The cancer and treatment weren't kind, but the doctor said he was doing better than most. Than most. Becoming part of a percentage was something she never thought about. His face was sunken in, he was pale and the veins in his wrist stuck out. And now, he slept a lot.

After they finished their lunch, they sat on either side of him, Shirley's mother holding his hand, rubbing it softly and Shirley holding his other hand, looking out the window. They sat like that for a while, until they heard a soft knock on the half-closed door. Dr. Grayson opened the door carefully and walked in, smiling faintly at Shirley and her mother.

"He's been sleeping today," Shirley said, keeping her eyes locked on her linked hand.

"Oh yes, the morphine increased yesterday, so he'll probably be sleeping for the rest of the day," Dr. Grayson explained, stepping to the end of the bed. Even though he didn't say anything else, Shirley could feel he wanted to continue. She looked up at him, and saw he was in deep thought. "Mrs. and Miss. Gibbs, could you please follow me?" he finally said, waiting over at the open door. Shirley's mother looked over to her with wide eyes and Shirley looked down, rising from her chair. The doctor opened the door wider for the two to pass through and then led the way.

It was getting worse. Considering her father's condition, the doctor said he was doing better than most but it was time for him to be moved. To go in to palliative care. In some ways, it would be better. Better than where he had been for all this time. Dr. Grayson suggested a care center that was near her parent's house, next to some green fields. It would be nice, much better than staying here at the hospital. Shirley hated how the next thought kept coming in to her mind but it was – unavoidable. It was expensive. The place would be costly enough, but with the added costs of her father's extra care and supervision, the price tag would become enormous. Dr. Grayson left them some flyers and said to make an appointment for next week, so they could move her father at the end of that week.

"Oh Shirley, I think this one would be the best," her mother pointed out nervously, with a small streak of hope. Looking down at the flyer, Shirley couldn't help but agree.

"The first one?"

"Yes dear, it's just that," her mother choked and a fresh wave of tears escaped her aged eyes. Guilt mixed with her own melancholy and Shirley held back the ache in her throat. By now her mother was weeping openly in to her hands and Shirley rubbed her back. Then, something struck her. Strictly speaking, it wasn't right but for her father, it would provide the best. She could pay for the best.

"I'll fix this, Mum, don't worry."

* * *

Just one week later, Arkham was getting back in to schedule. There were new faces amongst the guards, even some of the doctors. The melancholy feeling was amid though. Guards had died last week. And now everyone knew that Shirley had been lucky enough to escape the Joker. That wasn't something that people would forget. She just prayed that the media wouldn't find out. Information like that though, was something the newspapers of Gotham, never mind the country, would want.

Right now though, Shirley was worrying over something much more imminent. It would be her first interview with Warren since Joker's breakout. Also since, well, last time she saw him. A week on both accounts, nearly. There was no record of her ever going to his cell. Not on his file, which would have been updated not long after her leaving his cell. It was something that she could have fixed but left. And if Rocco hadn't made any reports about it, then she wasn't going to do anything. It was better to leave it. It never happened.

Part of her couldn't believe that. It had happened and despite her fear at the time, there had been a rush. A dangerous rush. A rush that had clouded over her thoughts. Shaking her head, she opened the file on her computer for the next interview plan. Her stomach flipped and dropped, hard. It had one sentence on it! And hell, it was the date and time for today. There was nothing, absolutely nothing. How had she gotten to this point again? Harley and Joker. Harley. There was a knock on her door; it was Rocco with her patient. Quickly, she got up and sat down nervously in her chair.

The door didn't open straight away, though. Staying shut, it grated violently at Shirley's nerves. Questions, now, like sparks from a frayed cord, were ablaze in her head. Should she be at her desk? Should she be working, like she hadn't heard the door? Or should she wait there patiently and look collected? Why was she saying that? Of course she looked collected. She was the doctor.

Suddenly, the door opened to reveal Warren, smug expression already intact. Shirley didn't know if she had the energy today: maybe in another week. Seeing his face again, being in the same room as him, made it feel as if she had only just stepped out of his cell. Striding in to the room, he stood in front of her. With her head down, she tried to think of something to do. Something to say. Just something. Anything.

"My dear, it has been a while." There was no other voice like his. None that made her feel a coldness creep down her spine in a shiver or feel the nauseating mixture of emotions.

"Take a seat, Warren," Shirley piped, keeping her head down. No notes and apparently, no back-bone either – Shirley was at a complete loss. An ache that was beginning to become ever present in the back of her throat surged and almost made it unbearable to let out a whimper. The brims of her eyes became heavy and glassy. And still, Warren hadn't made a movement.

A cold hand was placed on her shoulder, and she couldn't help but shudder and let out a strangled whimper. This time, the tears fell from her eyes. She felt another hand. They both slipped down either of her arms and grasped them. Pulling her up, she felt Warren take her place and pull her down gently on to his lap. So there she was again, crying all over her patient without holding back.

Lewis. Money. Her parents. Her dad. The hospital. The look on her mother's face. Money. Harley. Joker. Money. Warren. The two opposing feelings fought inside her. One was of utter disgust and shame, anger the opposing feeling. Comfort. Safety. She didn't want to think right now. So all that was left, was the battle between the two emotions. With a broken sigh, she shut her eyes. This wasn't perfect, but right now she felt some peace.

"You know, darling, I was hoping that we could talk today," he commented as he hooked one of his arms under her legs, pulling her closer. She did stiffen, but remained in his arms. His hand had weaved in to her curls, locking her to him.

"Well, what do you want to talk about?" she stuttered, her voice wavering on a whisper.

"I think today, we shall talk about you. You have always asked after myself. Why not try a different technique?" Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up at the man. From her angle, she couldn't see his face, however she knew he was smirking.

"What about the weather?" It was the best she could come up with. Even the thought was laughable before she had uttered it. And now, Warren mirrored her thoughts. He laughed loudly, his chest vibrating and making Shirley shudder.

"The weather? If, my dear, that takes your fancy, what is there to discuss? We are in Gotham. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the weather straight forward?" He humored her. Shirley just wanted to sink to the floor. The weather? Really. She would have laughed at herself if she didn't feel so desperate. Desperate that he would have talked about the weather. With a defeated sigh, she replied softly.

"Yes, it is."

"Good, I thought we were beyond pleasantries. A waste of time if you ask me," he started lightly but his tone faded in to darkly serious one. Shirley moved her head to the side, to look at the coffee table and then shut her eyes. What a_pathetic _mess she was. A cold finger trailed down her neck and she sharply turned back before it could venture lower. That woke her up.

"Let go of me."

"Tears again, darling?" he asked with an oozing sincerity. Tears were indeed sliding down her rounded and flushed cheeks. That couldn't stop her, though. There was still time to rectify this situation.

"As – as your doctor I am, I am," Shirley spluttered, struggling to get out of his arms.

"You what, sweets?" Every time he used a term of 'endearment', Shirley felt any sprout of confidence die. There was also that creeping feeling down her spine that confused her.

"Ordering you to let go of me," she continued, ignoring his previous question. She was continuing because she wanted to, not to answer him. Suddenly he pulled her up, so her eyes were even with his. Staring in to his dark brown eyes, she felt not only surrounded by him physically, but also mentally. It was a shroud of confusion. Confusion because she felt at a loss, angry even. But safety was there. Like she could just let out a deep breath. And it was sickening.

"And as your patient, I feel it is my obligation to share something with you," he began, leaning in to right ear. He breathed steadily for a moment. She could feel the moisture on her ear. All she could hear was his breathing. "We both know that charade had its time quite a while ago."

It was then she really felt something break inside her. And the mess that she was, she leaned in to his chest and let her head drop. He ran his disfigured hand up and down her lower back. Of course she felt disgusting about it. But if this was where she felt an inkling of solace, she deserved that much, right?

"Shirley, dear, how is your family?" With an ironic sense of duty, she thought before she replied.

"Fine." Her hear pumped another dose of adrenaline through her.

"You know, this may come as a surprise, but I do care about you. You wouldn't hide anything from me?" Again, a finger traced down her neck, but stopped when it reached her collar and went back up to her ear.

"I wouldn't." She shuddered then, as she felt his tongue lick up the side of her neck and felt his lipless mouth chuckle against her skin, near her ear.

"Of course you wouldn't." The door knocked then. And with that, Warren ran a finger down her cheek slowly, then her neck and pushed her collar down slightly. Lifting her carefully so he could get up, he left her in the chair. Then he left, without looking back. She could feel the brims of her eyes watering again, but she refused to cry. Getting up, she stumbled over to the couch. Lying down, she rolled over to face the chair where Warren had sat. She rolled over and shut her eyes.

* * *

"Babe, I'll be gone for most of the day." Shirley looked up from her steaming coffee and stared at Lewis for a moment. Then it clicked. City Hall preparations.

"Okay."

"No kiss goodbye?" He said cheekily, strolling over to her where she sat cross-legged on the couch. Placing the hot cup down on the coffee table she stood up and stood up on her toes and gave him a peck. Smiling warmly down at her, he pulled her in for another. Grasping her head to his, her curls intertwined in between his fingers, he started to kiss her neck. Shirley moaned and placed her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. He ran his lips back up to her lips and gave her another deep kiss that left her panting when he returned to her neck.

"Lewis," she gasped, and he smiled against her neck. Suddenly she pulled back from him, lost from the trance.

_Of course you wouldn't._

"Not again, Shirley," he groaned and tried to pull her back to him. She didn't want to do this to him. She was, though. And the guilt was immense. He nothing but a saint to her, he treated her like a queen. But she felt like an ice queen.

"No really Lewis, I don't," she said firmly, but lost some of her strength near the end, "I don't want you to be late."

"Sure, sure. I'll see you tonight," he stated coldly, turning away from her.

"I thought you were coming back in the afternoon?" she asked softly, her heart aching with guilt.

"Well looks like I'm a bit late, so I'll make it up later," he said dryly, still not turning to face her as he packed a few more things in to his backpack. Shirley felt a familiar pain in her throat rise from her chest. She held it back.

"Weren't we going to go out?" she asked, still not moving from her spot.

"Weren't we going to go out_last_week?" he flashed back at her, this time turning to look at her. A tear dropped from her cheek and landed on the floor. Lewis sighed and walked back over to her, but remained a few feet away. "Look Shirley, I know things are shit right now. I haven't gone through what you are experiencing, but I'm trying to be there for you."

"And Lewis I app-"

"How can I be there though, when you don't even want me here?" He asked openly, almost pleadingly. The pain in her throat was so intense, she couldn't help but gasp and let some more tears escape her red eyes.

"I do Lewis, I really do."

"I love you, Shirley," he said simply. Shirley looked away and crossed her arms across her chest. He didn't say it often and only because it made her uncomfortable. It was nearly unbearable right now though, mixed with the guilt. The guilt of Warren. "I do, don't look away from me. I want the best for you. I want to be your support, I want to be there for you in every way I can."

"And you are Lewis," she whispered, drawing her eyes back up to his. His eyes were laced with pain and desperation, something she knew hers were mirroring, in combination with guilt. Lewis stepped forward and grabbed her arms, pulling them away from her chest and holding them.

"Then stop pushing me away."

"I-I- am trying-" she pleaded, looking away from him again. Again, he sighed and dropped her arms.

"Look today,_I_need a break. I think we both do and that doesn't mean working," he revealed, the last part aimed at her. She needed it though! And Lewis saw it flash through her eyes. Picking up his bag, he slipped his arms in to backpack. Stepping over to her, he leant down and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you later, I love you."

_You wouldn't hide anything from me?_

She cared so much for Lewis. It was why she felt the guilt. Even more so because of how she felt about Warren. She didn't care for Warren like she did Lewis, but something was there. What it was, though, was unclear. Every time that thought came to her mind, she felt repulsed by it. Warren made her feel better. And because she was that selfish, she knew Lewis was too good for her. And he would always be.

_I wouldn't._

* * *

The air was especially crisp. To help lift her spirits, Shirley had opened all the windows in her apartment before she set down for work. Even with what Lewis had said, she knew that she was too far behind. Ignoring Warren's reports like a plague, she got engrossed in some of her other patients' reports. From late morning to late afternoon, Shirley rarely got up. After her first cup of coffee, she avoided any more caffeine so she wouldn't have to frequent the bathroom as much. Sticking to peach ice tea was a much better idea. If it wasn't for the home phone ringing, Lewis was sure to catch her working late in to the evening.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Gibbs?" A gruff voice asked.

"Speaking."

"This is Commissioner Gordon from Gotham police," he informed her. Shirley panicked. What had happened now? Was she in trouble? Oh God, was it Harley?

"Is there a problem?" She replied, attempting the best flat tone she could.

"Are you busy?" He was quick to reply and dodge her question. This only made her feel more uptight. Was it the Joker?

"No, why, what is wrong?"

"Do you mind coming in to the station?" She did. She would always mind going to the station. The image of Dickens was all too fresh in her mind and the association with the station was great.

"Well, can I at least know why?"

"Detective Jenkins, it's all I can say now."

"I'll be there in half an hour." Hanging up on the Commissioner, she tried to breathe slowly. Detective Jenkins, she remembered him all right. What she also remembered was the last time she saw and talked to him. Even after his partner had said the case was closing, she had an expectation that he would call back. He never did. And to get a call from the Commissioner regarding him instilled some chilling feelings in to her. Zipping up a dark green jacket, she made her way to her car.

When she arrived at the station, she didn't even have to ask to be seen. A policeman was waiting for her and recognized her instantly.

"Miss. Gibbs, if you'll follow me," he greeted politely and started to walk off. Shirley tightened her hold on her handbag and avoided the glances some of the people were giving her. In some part of the building, she could hear yelling. She walked faster. They reached the Commissioner in a matter of minutes and he also seemed to be waiting for her. If she had ever felt her office was messy or overwhelming then she was introduced to a whole new level. Commissioner Gordon's office was full of papers, though perhaps a little neater then her office. He motioned for her to take a seat in front of his desk. Sitting down and moving her handbag to her lap, she waited for him to start.

"Thank you for coming in on the weekend."

"What's wrong with Detective Jenkins?" Shirley asked abruptly, her nervousness bubbling.

"About seven months ago, he went missing."

"Seven months?" Shirley breathed and looking away. Seven months? That was such a long time. They couldn't have just noticed now.

"Yes. We have been trying to find him but have nearly exhausted all the leads we have," the Commissioner continued, leaning forward on the desk with crossed arms. Shirley suddenly felt like she was in trouble. Was she?

"Why am I here?"

"Miss. Gibbs, understand this please. When someone goes missing, we exhaust all leads and options. When it's someone from the force, we will have a lot more suspicion." Oh no, she was a lead.

"You don't – don't suspect me?"

"Not at all, but you were one the last people to see him, correct?"

"Well the last time I saw him, he wanted to share some details about the murders of one of my colleagues. But I couldn't have been the last person." How did they even know that? There was no way she could have been the last person. He had said that they had exhausted most of their leads. She couldn't begin to imagine someone she cared about going missing. It would almost be as bad as them dying. You wouldn't have any idea if they were alive or dead. Perhaps it was worse.

"You were not the last person?" He seemed surprised. Wouldn't it have been better to ask his partner? The Commissioner was now scrambling down masses of notes. It reminded her of herself in a way.

"No, I wasn't. The last time I saw him, he was speaking to his partner."

"And what was his partner's name?" For a moment Shirley was stunned, she couldn't think. Then thought flooded through her head again and questions. How could they not know his partner's name?

"David Tsui." The Commissioner wrote this down and looked back up her.

"You mentioned that he had some details to share?"

"Yes, um, about the murder," she started and closed her eyes momentarily as the images flashed throughout her mind. Closing her eyes only made it worse. Torn flesh, blood.

"What did he have to say?"

"Wouldn't it be on the file?" She questioned frowning.

"Answer the question please," he ignored her and pushed for her to answer with an intense gaze.

"He said that he suspected I was the reason Mr. Dickens was killed."

"Did he say why?"

"He didn't get to, his partner kept interrupting him," Shirley continued. The Commissioner stopped asking her questions suddenly and wrote down some more things. He got suddenly, startling her. Taking his loved notebook with him, he turned at the door.

"Please stay here Miss. Gibbs, I will be back and someone will bring you a coffee or tea?" He explained and waited for her answer. She shortly replied:

"Water please."

True to his word, someone had brought in a glass of water not long after he had left. The Commissioner came back in fifteen minutes, a hot beverage in his hand and took his seat across from her.

"Sorry for that. Now, are you sure his name was David Tsui?"

"Commissioner, did he not work here?"

"According to the records, no. That is why I need you to be absolute."

"I am."

"Well thank you for your help, I'll contact you again," he thanked and rose from his seat. Shirley was a step ahead of him, her hand on the doorknob. Stopping, she turned around as the Commissioner walked up to her. "Miss. Gibbs, one more thing before you leave."

"Yes?"

"Have you come in to contact with Miss. Quinzel?" She knew he was asking on professional level, it was his duty, but she was still touched by the question. It wasn't something she wanted to think about. Ever.

"No, I have not."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thanks to the great reviews I have been getting! Well here is the next chapter, quite a sea change from the normal flow in this story. I deviated from my plan a bit, but kept to the core of it. I also apologize for the bad jokes - humor is not my forte. Last note, thanks to **_**Night Monkey **_**(beta). Read and review.**_**Jazz**_

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

_After three weeks of no leads on the Joker, there have been a total of three break-ins to two of Gotham's largest banks, and one of the leading jewelry stores. Reports have come in, however, that in addition to the Joker's expected throng of thugs, he appears to have an accomplice._

_This is the only photo of the two, as every other security camera was destroyed by paintball bombs._

_Like the Joker, the accomplice is dressed like a clown, and reports are, is a woman. Police have made no comments in relation to the accomplice_

_Now on to the stock market, how are things looking today…_

Standing in the grocery store, Shirley's eyes had widened when as the image had appeared. Harley was gone completely. Insane. Plastered in the white paint, she was a perturbing image of the Joker. Sometimes, Shirley wondered if she could have done anything to stop this all from happening. It wasn't her fault. If that was true though, why did she feel so guilty? Shaking her head, she tried not to think about the blonde as she continued shopping. On Friday, her father had been moved to the new hospital, near her mother and out of Gotham. He seemed happy about a change in scenery. Her mother was so happy, so in the moment, seeing her husband smile.

Whilst Shirley was happy to see a change in his mood, there was an underlying thought that kept eating away at those precious moments: how would she pay for his care? Shirley had an idea.

Sitting in her closet, inside its velvet box, was the diamond bracelet. It was hard to forget about. Lewis hadn't brought up again how he wanted her to hand it in. The police weren't something she needed on her plate again. She preferred to sell the bracelet, simultaneously getting rid of it and helping her dad.

Walking over to the counter, she placed her basket on it and the cashier started to ring up her purchase. Looking back up the screen she could see that the story was now about Bruce Wayne and some controversy. She didn't listen.

"Miss? Forty-three dollars and ninety three cents," the young woman behind the counter must have repeated this, because when Shirley looked back at her, she looked considerably annoyed. Placing the money down on the counter, Shirley took her three grocery bags. Walking out into the street, Shirley saw the city was buzzing with people and the lights illuminated the busy city. It was Saturday night and she was in the heart of the city.

Lewis was at city hall again, with his team. They were working on the astronomy part of Gotham's Science Night that was coming in about three weeks. Apparently, it was going to be broadcasted nationally. Making her way down a particularly busy plaza, passing a fountain, she noticed something odd. Some gruff-looking men were pushing their way through the crowd, away from the middle of the plaza. Shirley rolled her eyes. It was Saturday night she reminded herself and there was probably a club across the plaza. People seemed annoyed; Shirley guessed she might have been as well. Leaving the car at home seemed like a bad idea now. She hadn't planned to stay in the inner city this long.

There was a loud beep.

It was like a whirlwind, an immense push with the loudest, most deafening sound. An explosion. For moment she could feel nothing; she guessed that she was airborne. Just as quickly as it had started, she felt her body slam to the ground and she groaned. People were screaming and crying all around her. Her clothes were soaking and she was covered in dust and dirt. It all hurt too much, her head and the left side of her face. There was a high, straight ping in her ears and for moment it was all she could hear. As it slowly faded away, she heard something else. A giggle. A high-pitched, female giggle. Groaning again, she opened her eyes with an immense effort. She was lying on the pavement, surrounded by other people. There was a middle-aged woman near her and blood was pooling around her head. Shirley bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. Some others though, did not.

"Quite the splash! Ha ha ha! Whaddya think, Harley?" Joker cackled as he jumped in what was left of the fountain. Shirley saw her then. Harley stepped up next to Joker and grasped one of his arms tightly, joining him with a manic smile.

"Oh Mr. J, I'm not sure if everyone got wet!" she cried gleefully and a moment later, water started to spray down at the people lying on the pavement. Water shot in to Shirley's eyes and she curled over. The ever-growing puddle of blood seeping from the woman near her got diluted and quickly spread over to Shirley. Shirley couldn't help but whimper as she felt the diluted blood running down across her neck and soaking her top, mixing in with the dirt and water. Somebody started to scream and Shirley looked up slowly. It was a young woman, not too far from where she was. Harley was holding her by her hair and giggling in to her ear. The Joker jumped down from his spot in the fountain and walked over to Harley and the woman. The water had stopped spraying for now, but this did not ease her.

"Why the _l-o-n-g _face?" The Joker laughed in the crying woman's face. Harley let her drop as one of the gruff men Shirley had seen earlier came up behind the weeping woman and grabbed her roughly. Next thing she knew, Harley was holding out a wide barrelled shotgun. Pulling it back with a girlish giggle, she pulled the trigger back and there was a puff of smoke. The woman screamed hysterically, and the three laughed. As the smoke dissipated, she could see that Harley hadn't fired a shot. Sticking out of her gun was a flag that said 'BANG!' in thick, bold font. The woman gave a loud cry as the man dropped her. Shirley could hear as another trigger was pulled back and this time there was a distinctive shot. Joker laughed as he drew back his gun and Harley threw herself on to him.

"Do it again, Puddin'!" she cried excitingly at him. Joker shoved Harley off and wondered off in his own direction, his men following behind him. Harley didn't pout, not as she would have expected her to. Shirley dropped her head back down as she saw Harley strutting over closer to her. It was too late.

"Shirls?"

Tears welled up in Shirley's eyes. Please, please, please, Shirley begged in her head as she heard Harley make her way over to her. The woman though, was right on top of her. Grasping the front of Shirley's bloodied button-up top, she was yanked up and then hugged fiercely.

"What are you doing?" Shirley gasped into Harley's covered ear.

"Liberating ya'," Harley replied and pushed her back, her fingers tightly gripping Shirley's shoulders. Shirley could do nothing but gape at the madwoman, who tried to run a gloved hand through Shirley's dirty and wet hair.

"Please don't do anything," Shirley whimpered, backing away from Harley. Harley's white-painted face frowned and before Shirley could prepare, she was slapped. Swinging to the side and struggling to stay upright, Shirley cried out. Harley had hit the left side of her face that had tiny cuts all over it from the pavement. Her face throbbed and as she drew a hand away, she saw specks of blood.

"Don't ya speak to me like that, not now, not ever!" Harley screamed in her face, making Shirley back away again. Harley's expression then dropped to a solemn one. "You aren't like them, you understand."

_No! You understand! I know you do!_

Shirley for moment saw the tear-stained Harley, peering up at her desperately. Now it was Shirley who was looking at Harley desperately and afraid.

"Shirley, stop being such a good girl," Harley said slyly as she made her way over to Shirley yet again. "Where's it gotten ya?" Just then, Joker called out to Harley.

"Oh honey-deeeeeeeear! Come help the – ha - guests won't you!" Harley laughed and yanked Shirley forward. Despite her appearance, Harley was quite strong. Harley had mentioned a few times that she been quite the gymnast once. Shirley didn't doubt her. Sirens could be heard faintly in the distance. Why weren't they here yet? What about Batman? Would he come? The cold glove gripped Shirley's wrist and Shirley struggled to keep up with Harley's fast pace.

Joker and his thugs had round up a group of people, all shaking and bloodied. Shirley hoped, hoped completely, utterly, that Harley wasn't taking her over there to join them. Harley walked over quickly, Shirley's injuries aching at the increased pace. However Every time she felt her legs knock in to something somewhat soft, she bit her tongue. Oh please, Shirley begged, where were the police? Anyone. Somebody had to be coming.

And finally, Harley stopped. Shirley couldn't bring her eyes up from the pavement, noticing tiny dots of blood. It was so hard to focus on them, her head ached as she kept her eyes grounded on to the dots, not dots of blood – she couldn't think of it that way. Adrenaline was the one thing keeping her standing up, but was also making her head spin.

"Oh Har-ley, Harley, have we found a friend?" Joker questioned. For a moment, Shirley hoped that he had forgotten her face. But the joke would cruelly be upon her if she even gave that thought some weight.

"It's Shirls, remember Shirls? She's not just a friend Mistah-J, she's my best friend! Remember?" In her excited explanation, Harley dropped Shirley's wrist. Shirley didn't dare run away. Taking a moment to glance up, she saw the thugs roughly pushing people in to a tight group and wrapping a cord around them.

"Shirley Shirls? Ha ha ha ha! Now, now, quite the doc! I remember you _very well_!" He cackled and grabbed her chin, squeezing her cheeks tightly with his long fingers. The tiny cuts on her left cheek burned in response, making her eyes water. He had forced her face up to look at him and Shirley was terrified. His sickly white skin was no different from the last time she had seen him and his eyes were just as manic.

"Ah, Sir?" one of the large thugs called out from the large group of people. The Joker let go of Shirley's face and strode over to the large thug. He seemed nervous, holding on to the end of a rope. "I'm outta rope."

"Not enough rope? Ha! Great one!" Shirley didn't get it at first, though she never was good at deciphering jokes. Before her eyes though, Joker whipped out a gun and with a bang, the thug dropped to the pavement. Joker was madly cackling again. Some people in the group started to cry out and the guards gave them a menacing look and flash of their own weapons. It was then that Shirley got the sickening joke. "Now, to make – ah, ha – some space for a – _perfect _fit."

The gun again rose and was directly pointed at young woman's head. She whimpered, tears pouring down her dark cheeks. Suddenly, the gun was knocked out of Joker's hand by something that made a slicing sound through the air and then struck the pavement. Joker's eyes flashed up and Harley started to giggle. Shirley turned her head up slowly and saw none other than the Batman. The Joker laughed again, different from his others, this one more 'free' if possible and senseless. Batman swooped down to the pavement with a leg outstretched towards one of the thugs and took him to the ground. Once he landed, he was a blur that Shirley had trouble keeping up with.

Batman was surrounded by twenty or more thugs in a large circle. Leaping forward he grabbed two thugs and smashed their heads together. Turning, he punched one in the face and another was swiftly met by a kick to the gut. Batman was fast, but outnumbered. A larger, grizzly-looking thug brought him harshly down to the ground. The group of people cried out. Something wasn't right. Where was the Joker or Harley? They had been standing right next to her! With a swiftness Shirley was not used to, she looked around her but it was too late. Joker clamped his long-fingered hand on to her mouth and tightened an arm around her waist, pulling her back to match his steps. Was this a setup? Shirley's heart pumped even more furiously as her eyes tried to catch Batman's movements. He might have been taken down a few times, but he was up again quicker than the thugs could register it.

So this was an orchestra of chaos that the Joker composed? It was nothing like black text, surrounded by the white space she had read through her years at university. It was so real and devouringly terrifying.

Shirley knew there was no way that she had originally been part of the plan that had so quickly engulfed her. Harley's reaction to her presence was too sincere, even in her madness.

The thugs were falling to the pavement as Batman cut through them. Batman took a nasty slash to his arm as he protected his torso and Shirley thought he would collapse from all the energy that he had spent. Her attention was drawn away from Batman as she felt warmth breath on her neck.

"Shirley-locks, I'd like…like – no, love to ha – give you a huge, tremendous thank you for being here on this dazzling night and for being a facelift to my plan!" he whispered, cackling at the end. Shirley was pulled in to a convertible, a dark purple one too. By the time Batman had slashed the rope binding the hostages together, he had barely had time to keep an eye on Joker. Shirley prayed that he would stop the Joker before she lost the ability to keep calm.

"Let her go, Joker," was Batman's gruff and calm reply. Shirley couldn't see Batman, but he sounded like he was off to her side.

"Do you try to disappoint me? It _wounds _me, greatly – that you would expect something so – boring!" Joker cried and he gave Shirley a tight pull around her waist. Harley giggled and Joker's hand left her face. A new sensation replaced it. On her right temple, a cold and circular shape dug into her skin. Biting her bottom lip, she felt new tears on her face, the salt stinging her cuts and causing her eyes to water more.

There was a silence between the two. The moment was drawn out, the tension suffocating Shirley. Batman was still and she hoped he was calculating. Cries could be heard and sirens were drawing closer, like they were right around the corner. Joker was breathing heavily, the arm around her middle making it even harder to breathe. The sirens were coming closer and Shirley didn't know is felt scared or relieved.

It all happened too quickly. She didn't know what, but something latched on to the car and with a loud laugh from Joker, the car sped to life. Peaking a quick glance behind her, she saw a small black device stuck to the car and it's occasional green light flicking on. Joker grabbed her hair and pulled her back forcibly and Shirley whimpered. Now forced to sit in the speeding car, Shirley watched the nightlife of Gotham speed past her. The sirens were now following the purple car and Joker's laughs were almost lost in the loud mixture of noises. The barrel was still pushed in to her temple, the metal warming from her body. Harley swerved violently to the right and one police car caught on too slowly, as it crashed into light post. They were heading in to the darker parts of Gotham. The lights of Gotham began to fade away and soon it was only the streetlights illuminating the road. Then they were lost to the police. Batman - she had no idea.

"Pumpkin' pie!" The car came to a stop, and the only things that Shirley could see was the whiteness of Joker's and Harley's faces. Something passed between the two, either an acknowledgement or command. Whatever it was, it meant separation. Once both Shirley and Joker were out of the car, Harley sped off. Now it truly was quiet. Being alone with Harley didn't seem so bad. To some degree, Shirley could predict what she might do. With Joker, she was in the dark.

It was strange to be in the company of the man and for it to be so quiet. Without looking, she knew that his bold red lips were in wide grin. And that the silence was more disturbing than his twisted humor. They were walking into an old building, abandoned like the rest in this area. When she was guided in to the building, it was darker than outside.

"Boo!" And Shirley screamed, her nerves and mind on edge. It was Joker, she knew that, but with such silence before, it was an unexpected change.

"Ha ha he ha ha! Now if that doesn't work, I'd – ha – love to try again!" Joker cackled, jabbing her side, reminding her of some possible other injuries from the explosion. Suddenly the room lit up and Shirley's gut twisted. "See Shirley-locks, I was just going to pick out any ol' coop! But with your golden locks and ties to Harl', how could we not include you! Ha ha! Why, you're like our _family_." The large room was lit up with sequencing lights, red, purple and orange. Inside was an intricate structure. "And family is first."

Stepping in front of Shirley, she could see that she had been right. The purple lights came on, casting a vibrant purple on to his pasty face and yellowed grin. His gun was aimed directly at her and he walked forward slowly. Shirley matched him and took slow steps back until she fell down in to something – a chair. It must have been on a trigger, because metal bands snapped shut around her wrists. Struggling she tried to wiggle free, but the bands were thick and strong around her wrists.

"Please, please let me go!" she begged desperately, looking at him in the eyes. She couldn't be silent anymore. For a moment one of her lectures from university passed through her mind. It was one of the more 'practical' subjects that had to be taken for students who wanted to become psychologists. Be calm, but most importantly mask your emotions. Don't fall into their hands. But how the hell could she do that?

"I'm giving you best seat in the house! Ha ha ha!" And as though the Joker had commanded it, her chair started to move. Turning her head to the side, her eyes widened. The chair was on some kind of track, trudging her along and it looked like some aged roller coaster. Music started to play; its childlike tune making the room spin hauntingly with the colors. What if, what if Batman was following the car? By the time Harley hit a better-lit area it might be too late! Wait – too late for what? Shirley started to struggle even more, but her struggles only made the rickety track swing. The chair was sturdy but the tracks weren't. Even if Batman did manage to come, the structure would collapse if the chair was moved too much. What a cruel twist, a joke. Joker's laughs bled in to the music and Shirley started crying.

Now up high in the structure, she lost sight of Joker. But he started talking.

"Took you long enough!"

"Where is she?" It was Batman. She could barely hear him, but that gruff tone could only be matched to him.

"You tricky Batster! Using a tracking device on that _beaut_-iful car, that's cheating!" Joker announced and it sounded like he was moving about, as the origin of his voice changed. Shirley went around a loop quickly and the structure groaned, making her whimper. "Luckily I thought ahead for both of us," Joker finished with a dark tone. Her chair was moving faster, making the structure struggle with the chair as it twisted and turned. Why was he doing this? Shirley would have scoffed at herself if she weren't so scared. Joker would laugh at a question like that, and those laughs would be his answer.

The chair was only building more and more momentum. The changing of the lights was becoming more rapid and the music sounded like it was being sped up to match everything else.

"It's quite a dashing choice!" Joker laughed and then it hit Shirley. Batman could save her and leave Joker escape or he could…leave her. The group of hostages was no doubt safe and in the hands of the police now. But she was just one person. One person next to capturing Joker. The revelation only caused her to cry even more. The structure was now shaking, the room was a blur of colours and she was going to die in it all.

Suddenly something grappled onto the chair. She tried to focus on the source, but she was up too high and the tears in her eyes made everything blurry. There was a tug and the chair was pulled upwards, just as the structure began to crumble. Hanging from the ceiling, she watched it fall down to the cement floor. Panting heavily, she tried to stop her tears. Then, slowly, the grapple lowered the chair to the rubble. Once the grappled was released, there was a whirring noise and the only sound was the music. Out of the shadows stepped Batman, his dark figure seeming to embody all the dark creases in the room that escaped the flashing lights. With a gadget, he cut the metal bands that had coiled around her wrists.

"Thank – thank you," Shirley croaked. Batman offered her his hand and she took it. Once they had carefully walked onto the bare cement again, she drew herself away from Batman. Cautiously, she looked around for Joker.

"He's gone." Shirley didn't need to question him any further about that. With a level of some calmness flowing back in to her, she felt more in control, more grounded. Shirley had had enough tense silences for the evening, so she spoke next.

"I don't care what you do, or how you do it, but can you please take me home?" Not only had Shirley's pride taken quite a beating, she felt vulnerable and worn out. There were things that she had seen she had to work through.

"You should talk to the police."

"And you think I am unaware of this?" Shirley replied, rubbing her wrists, "Look, if I don't go to them, I am certain they can find me." Batman didn't reply and began to walk away; Shirley followed. Stepping outside with him she almost didn't see the sleek black motor vehicle. Batman stepped aside and motioned for her to get in. It wasn't obvious how to get in, especially with so little light, but Shirley managed nonetheless. She quietly told him the address and leant her head against a cold window. Honestly, she couldn't have cared less about telling him where she lived. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. A small part of her mind was listing the possible injuries she could have if she didn't visit the hospital to check them out. Hasten to say that it might have slipped through Batman's mind as well. It seemed at this moment he respected her enough to not say anything else about her position.

About her relation to Joker though, well, she shouldn't be surprised. And she wasn't.

"How are you connected to Joker?" Shirley felt some comfort as the lights of Gotham went past her at a contented blur. Batman's question burnt her. Connected to Joker, linked; it made her feel filthy. Not like the blood and grime that had completely soaked her, it was more internal and disgustingly tied to her marrow.

"You have my gratitude, all of it," she spoke after a time, not moving from the window, "but I don't owe you my life story."

"I'm not asking for it."

"Maybe another time," she sighed, trying to get lost in the coloured blurs. She resisted a shiver when she felt tension around her wrists.

"I'm not asking for your life story, but what do you think the police will ask for?" he repeated and Shirley shut her eyes. He was right. And she already had previous encounters with them. Like being pulled back in time, she felt herself sliding in to the horror and fear she had felt when she had seen Dickinson. But what could Batman do?

"And how can you change anything? I was singled out in front hundreds of people," she replied coldly and again, felt some comfort as she slid back in normal mindset. The police would be sucking them dry for information and details. Type her name in, and the links would pull her up. What a mess. Blood rolled down her neck and she shut her eyes – city lights. The images of Dickinson were worse because of the brutality, but tonight there had been quantity. People had died.

"I can put your help to use." His gruff tone remained the same, something that Shirley liked. He was going to be persistent. Whilst he may have some respect for her, he was still a man on a solo mission.

"I don't want anymore ties."

"And you think I would make them?" Shirley turned to face him and caught his eyes for a moment before he turned back to the road.

"Quinzel entered Arkham when I did, she befriended me. She was given Joker."

"I didn't ask about Quinzel." How could she talk about her – connections to Joker without mentioning Warren? You aren't cold for nothing Shirley, she reminded herself.

"I was assigned to my own patient, not in the same level as Joker. As Harley spiralled in to insane love for Joker, she latched on to me and thought I was in a similar position with my own patient."

"Are you?"

"You have to ask?" His question did of course make her question herself, but really though? Shirley felt like laughing, but it would fade in to that state of confusion again. Pulling in to a familiar street, the Batmobile came to a steady stop. Her bed, the smell of the clean linen on the bed, the soft and thick comforter. Sinking in to all that comfort, wrapped up in it all, she just wanted to go to sleep. After a shower.

Just as it had been a mystery getting into the vehicle, Shirley found herself outside of it and in the cold air that was distinctly Gotham. Batman remained inside his dark vehicle, but wound down the window.

"Evening, Miss. Gibbs." Batman sped off, his vehicle blending in with the night. By the time Shirley had arrived at her apartment, she was desperate for a shower, to drown in the spray of water instead of the night's images. Lewis was asleep in the bed, he mustn't have heard about – tonight. Lewis. Tears started to fall down her face again. She was such an awful person.

Wiping the tears away and aggravating the cuts on her face, she made her way to the bathroom. All the cuts would have to be cleaned. Even with her tiredness was weighing her down as the adrenaline finally wore off, she shed her filthy clothes and stepped into the shower. The water spread down her body and she let out a heavy sigh, wavering slightly with the repressed emotions of the night. It wasn't until she had cleaned her face after her shower that something odd occurred to her. No it wasn't that she had just remembered her handbag was gone in the rubble, the bankcards that would have to be closed, her license, money or the groceries. It was Batman's farewell. She ran through their conversation again, even the _preceding _events. Not once had her last name been spoken. And that brought a whole new layer to their conversation.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, I've been really lucky to get such lovely reviews. And lastly, no excuse for how late this is. Read and review. **_**Jaz**_

**Disclaimer: DC characters and such, is owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.**

Batman had been right. Shirley felt so haggard and drained from the police's questioning she barely got through work. The following morning after being kidnapped by the Joker, she woke up in the arms of Lewis. For a brief moment, as the haziness of a deep sleep ebbed away, Shirley felt some peace. As the realization dawned on her, she felt trapped within Lewis's arms. They were almost suffocating. And with that thought, Shirley went in to a fit. It wasn't until she was on the floor, into a corner, that she started to break down in to fits of tears. Within seconds, he was in front of her, trying to counsel her.

"Shirley, baby, please," he begged, his voice hinting that he was also near tears. Raising her head from her arms, she saw Lewis's red eyes. They held a teary gaze for a moment before Lewis pulled her in to his arms once again. She wished and pleaded with herself that his embrace would bring her contentment. It did not.

Despite her state, she wished to go back to work. Lewis wouldn't hear of it. He did not let her return for a week.

Shirley was lost within her fear of being taken again, mixed with the thoughts of her father and Warren. She was wrought with confusing feelings. Guilt. Apprehension. The twisting mess of her thoughts and feelings made her feel sick. Whilst the police had been all over her, by some lucky turn of fate, the media were lost to her identity. Oh they talked about the kidnapping however. It was a mystery, one that Shirley was thankful for.

After that one week, she couldn't stand being at home anymore. Lewis didn't want her anywhere near Arkham.

"I can't beli- I can't comprehend that you would willingly put yourself back there!" Lewis stated throwing his arms up to emphasize the point. After Shirley had found some of her normal composure once again, the insatiable drive for her to return to work also returned.

"Despite what you may think Lewis, I need to work. Money isn't something I have landing in my lap," she clipped in reply, merely making Lewis shake his head further in confusion. Easing herself down on to the couch, she tried to get comfortable. Her back was beginning to ache constantly.

"Get another job, you have the qualifications." Shirley resisted a chuckle. Even though she was angry and upset, just like Lewis, laughing at him would be too cruel.

"Specialized in criminology," she replied, trying to calm her tone. Breathing in, she found her chest resisted growing in full expansion to take a deep breath.

"A clinic would be an improvement, you could be closer, the stress-" He suggested. His tone indicated that he too, was tiring of this argument. Walking around the couch, he sat down next to her but made no move to touch her.

"A clinic? A clinic, Lewis?" Turning to him, looking at him sternly he knew that once again, he had lost. Her pride would not allow her to work below her current profession. He let out a breath that he was unaware that he had been holding.

"I want the best for you, Shirley. I want you to succeed. I want you to achieve your dreams. But not at the cost of your health." His defeated tone made Shirley feel waves of guilt. Everything was so infuriatingly complicated. And messy. With great hesitancy, she grasped his hand.

"It won't happen again," she reassured Lewis, trailing her thumb along his hand. Silence followed for a time. Shirley didn't know whether Lewis was appeased with her words or not. Anxiousness grew. Since she had taken Lewis's hand, he had not recoiled. Neither had he returned any grip.

"But it might, you cannot deny that." His voice suddenly broke the silence. Shirley had never heard him so intently serious before. The finality in his voice left her flustered.

"I -" With a quick motion, he dropped her hand and was in front of her. Looking up at him, she felt her heart ache at the sight of his tears.

"I love you, Shirley. I think you forget this. And your selfish actions affect more then just yourself!"

* * *

Commencing her work at Arkham again brought an uneasy comfort to her. If it was the only comfort she was going to get, then was going to take it. So on a Friday evening, at her desk, Shirley asked herself a question that lately, had been swimming in her mind. Bringing it to words was something she didn't want to do however. It made her want to slap herself, make her laugh – make her cry at the blunt reality.

Was it worth it?

Her work was so consuming. This goal, that felt so high, so above her, was constantly slamming her down. And it wasn't just time that was being eaten away at. Lewis's words kept flashing through her mind. The moment these thoughts eroded in to her, the harsher they got, she would immerse herself even further in her work, drowning them out. When she regained some balance again, she would chide herself with a forced chuckle. And when she recovered, there was another motivation that made itself known, every time she looked up.

Dr. Young had taken the liberty of taking Shirley's interview sessions with Warren whilst she was away. Also in to her first week back. Though she was still at work, Arkham had declared that she only take sessions with the low level patients. There was no other way around it. Shirley was furious! It was a good thing that she had the morning off to read up on all of Young's notes. It perplexed Shirley, her raging anger. Of course there was the factor that Warren was her prized patient, the one that she spent so many extra hours on. But there was something else. Jealousy.

Knock-knock.

Raising her head up, she saw the door peak open and Warren slithered in to the room smoothly. Quietly the door shut behind him, the person shutting it ever so making their presence known outside the door. When Warren's brown eyes to snapped to her stare, the whole air in the room changed. Remaining at her desk, she watched him as he leisurely made his way over to her. There was something especially demanding about the intensity of the gaze. Shirley was almost afraid to drop her eyes. Lost in the trance, she didn't realize how close Warren had gotten. The desk served as a reminder, pulling her out of his hold. She expected him to smirk, chuckle or even just make a comment.

He didn't.

Even with his somewhat variable personality, Shirley felt a new wave of confusion as Warren continued his strong glare and unmoving stance. Maybe it was just her. It wasn't like she _hadn't_ been going through some heavy circumstances of late – right? Assurances like that didn't still Shirley's calculating mind though. Whilst Shirley tried to come up with something, anything to do next, Warren made the decision for her.

"Back so soon?" His voice also seemed to lack it's charming undertones. The bluntness in his tone left her uncomfortably perplexed. Shirley took this moment to break away from his eyes, down to her desk. It must have looked like an act of submission, because that's what it felt like. How could she push herself through an interview, making up things as she went along if she couldn't manage her own life? The bitterness she felt seep from her chest on to the tip of tongue at the thought of Dr. Young being more organized – making _progress_ kept her alert however. "Darling?"

Flashing her eyes to his, she felt some shame in her next action. She looked for warmth. Sincerity. Warmth was not something she expected to find, and she didn't, there was some sincerity however.

"You must feel drained, my golden girl, why not relocate to your chair?" The offer was somehow enticing. Warren made sitting down in a chair sound like getting lost in the great comforts cushions of silk could provide – something that the armchair couldn't. Maybe it was because she really did feel drained, maybe it was because of Warren's alluring words. These thoughts all paled when Shirley raised her eyes to his again, to see them once again ablaze with his charm again.

Seated next to Warren on the couch, rather then just the armchair, the tenseness in her muscles didn't dissipate. Warren however seemed to be at complete ease. Arms raised behind his head, his head resting on his arms and his legs lazily stretched out. Tightness spread from her neck slowly down to her chest and the next thing she knew, her breaths were short and unfulfilling.

"Hey, hey doll, be calm," Warren said, trying to sooth Shirley's short breaths. Why was this happening? Shirley's head was buzzing, on top of her heart. Suddenly Warren grabbed her, making her cry out. Warren shushed her slowly and ran his right disfigured hand down her cheek. The pressure and stress of the current situation was licking dangerously at her already breaking composure.

"Can we please just stop?" She gasped, after taking in another short breath. His hand paused momentarily however Shirley wasn't at ease yet. His hand returned to trace her face with a light touch. It reminded Shirley of when she had woken up as a child at a school camp, with a large, hairy, black spider crawling down her face. She shuddered at the memory and it's likeness to Warren's touch. He grasped her chin weakly, trying to turn her head. Shirley couldn't let her resolve dissolve that much.

"Resistance? Now out of all things I expect from you, that has not been one for quite some time, darling," he chuckled and let his hand drop from her chin to rest on her thigh. Nervously, Shirley's eyes flashed around the room. With a hot flash though, Shirley eyes stopped moving around. Warren's hand crept up her thigh. Amongst her panicked thoughts, she blessed herself for wearing pants. However, Shirley would not succumb to this kind of abuse…embarrassment. It was degrading. With a large swing, she found herself with her hand burning after a loud slap. Warren's head was turned to the side and he seemed to let it remain so. Shirley scrambled out of his lap and crawled pathetically across the floor to the door. Turning back around as quickly as her body would let her, she pushed herself hardly against the wall near the door. Warren was looking at her with smirk and a growing red mark on the left side of his face. Seeing warmth in his skin was not something she was accustomed to. It made him strangely human.

As she looked at her patient, this man who was her key to everything she had ever dreamed of, aspired to achieving. There he sat though, lounging on the armchair, proudly wearing her slap with his sinister smile. Where had it gone wrong? When had this – this all happened? With a smooth stride that harshly contrasted his deformed appearance, Warren made his way over to her. Her heart hammered so strongly, she was sure Warren could hear it. If he did hear it, it didn't seem to affect him. Slowly, he stopped in front of her and pulled up her chin. Shivering, he urged her to stand silently. It didn't matter if she wanted to fight him. His presence was seductively commanding. It was how she found herself rising before the gravity of the statement had been processed. Now at her full height, her eyes dropped to their feet.

"My darling, darling golden girl." His voice slithered around her. She just wanted to cry. For the first time in over a decade, she wanted her mother to hold her. Seven. That's how old she had been. Not being fond of dogs – or really any pets, Shirley had never felt a desire to have a pet. As her mother came to notice, her daughter had isolated herself in school. Worried for her well-being, Shirley's mother had bought a kitten. It had been white with a mixed brown coat on it's back. Being in charge of such a small life, that could fit in to her hands had scared Shirley. So eventually, her mother had ended up being the caretaker. Shirley did come to hold affection for the little being though. When shielded away from the eyes of her father and especially her father, she would pet and play with the kitten, now cat. Then, it had all happened so quickly for her, the cat had gotten sick and passed. Shirley had tried to ward of the tears but failed, her face splotchy, flushed and teary. Her mother had held her for so long, time had become a lost concept to her. That's what Shirley wanted right now, to be held.

"Tears?" A cold finger graced her face, making her refocus again. It was not wise to loose focus like that; she scolded herself the lapse in her attention. Warren's two hands held her face, forcing her to look in to his eyes. His eyes held her there, locked in to place. She couldn't be sure what she saw in his eyes. That was something she was coming to realize. He was a master at keeping his true feelings hidden. Shirley would see what Warren wanted her to see. And right now, she couldn't even guess what he wanted her to see. Maybe he wanted to confuse her.

Leaning down with care, he rested his forehead against hers, still holding her face. However, she noted his eyes were shut. Something that was uncharacteristic of his behavior. His eyes were part of his personality, how he used them and what he chose to reveal with them.

"You never speak to me anymore," he whispered. His tone revealed vulnerability, she couldn't be sure of him though. There was nothing about him that she could be sure with. Letting her eyes trace the form of his face, she attempted to grasp on to anything to reveal something to what he was feeling or thinking. Like a flash, his eyes opened, demanding her once again to look. This time, she could determine his gaze. It was dark and possessive. He wasn't hiding anything. Everything he was feeling at the precise moment was swirling in his eyes. It was terrifying. No one had ever looked at her with such a gaze before. It was everything unspoken about the gaze that terrified her. He didn't need to say a thing to have falling whim to him. "Say my name."

"What?" Her fear had such a hold of her now, it's tendrils wrapped around her muscles in her body, making her tremble. And this fear reveled under Warren's attention.

"Shirley, now is not time for stupidity."

"Warren White." She licked her lips anxiously, waiting for his reaction.

"Louder."

"Warren White." His head moved away from her forehead and moved so his mouth was touching her ear.

"Louder."

"Warren White!" A pressure grew swiftly in her chest and she new it was a new wave of tears. One that she knew she could not hold off for long. Shirley felt Warren's forehead return to her own and she trembled.

He was smiling. She could see it in the corners of his eyes when he took her gaze once again. Slowly, he shut his eyes and lent his face down further to give another of his 'kisses'. Shirley did not fight him as she felt the tingling sensation of his tongue down her neck. It was hard enough to keep her tears contained. To also be resistant would cause her to break. This was also what she repeated in her head, to keep her resolve strong of course. Stay strong and don't break. Don't break.

* * *

During the following day after Warren's interview, Shirley found herself in front of her computer. With no notes and a lack of any idea of what to write, a blank document mocked her. Looking away from the monitor, she peered at her office. Her desk, as usual, was in disarray and left her feeling uncomfortable at the reflection of it within herself. Absently, her hand found her mug but shuddered at the coolness of it. Another cup of coffee wasted.

Taking her mug and a clipboard, more out of habit, she started walking to the kitchen. Tired, Shirley did not notice someone walking in her direction that was also unaware to their surroundings. The grip on her mug was only strong enough to keep it within her hand and bumping in the other person caused it to fall from her fingers. It was the loud shatter of the mug that woke Shirley slightly.

"Dr. Gibbs!" Dr. Young. Of all the people, of anyone and everyone, Shirley would find herself with her? Etched on to her brow swiftly, Shirley looked up at Dr. Young with a deep scowl. Lifting herself back up to her full height with her clipboard in hand, Dr. Young recoiled from Shirley's intensity. "I am so sorry, so sorry – my mind was um, elsewhere. Elsewhere."

"It's alright Dr. Young, my mug hasn't seen much usage of late," Shirley explained flatly, pushing the largest piece of the mug around on the floor. Shirley took in Dr. Young appearance. Her bun was messy. For Dr. Young it was; the woman was immaculate. Her appearance was shabby, her coat stained with – Shirley preferred not to dwindle on that thought.

"Are you well Dr. Gibbs?"

"I am fine." Shirley cared not to ask Dr. Young. The woman had crossed the line. Interviewing her patient. Warren was far from needing constant therapy, especially when his personal doctor, Shirley, would not even be away two weeks. It infuriated Shirley. For the first time since the incident with Joker, Shirley felt a shred of her determination invigorate her. Even if she was still tired as hell.

"Good, good – Warren seems to be going," Dr. Young babbled, pausing at a choice for words, "-well." Shirley resisted the urge to say 'of course'. Her silence would be all Dr. Young would receive. Leaving the shattered mug at the disheveled doctor's shoes, Shirley made her way onwards to the kitchen. She was going to need that coffee.

* * *

With Shirley's mood somewhat improved, Lewis relished in it. Shirley, at the lounge with her laptop, was typing up reports. There was no time to dwell on the shallowness of them. The lines of truth of _fabrication _ were merging together. Shirley was having trouble telling the difference. Before she could think more on it, Lewis slammed the door open.

"I can't believe it! Tomorrow night!" Lewis exasperated with energy, dropping his backpack with a thud on the floor. Making his way over to Shirley, he missed her blank look. Shirley raced through her mind, what was happening tomorrow night? Pushing her laptop out of the way, with some care of course, he pulled Shirley up. His mouth latched on to her's with a force that she couldn't help but smile from. His arms tightened around her waist and one of his hands latched in to her curls, guiding her head. Pushing him back, with a need for air, her smile remained.

"What?" Shirley questioned, her hands resting on his shoulders. Lewis hid the flash of hurt well. His lips returned to her face, leaving butterfly kisses along the left side of her face. "Lewis what is happening?"

Lewis did not want to seem to comply with a response, as he fell on to the couch with Shirley on his lap. His hand slithered down from her hair to the hem of her t-shirt as he kissed her neck with the same intensity as when he had kissed her. Anything she had been thinking about before was long gone from her mind, hidden within the haze of Lewis's affections. Her murmured something against her neck.

"Funding from the city." And then that, Shirley sighed. Neither of them was gifted with romance, but with a lingering smile, Lewis had almost fooled her tonight.

"Funding from the city for what?" Shirley asked, wanting him to continue. Softly pulling her down closer to him, she rested her head underneath his chin.

"You know that project I've been working on for a while with my mates from college?"

"Yes."

"Well, alongside other teams from our college and fellow colleges, we have the chance to win some funding. We are representing the Astronomy facility for Gotham City College!" The excitement in his voice so immense, she could feel it lending itself unto her. "You can come right?"

"To the presentation? When is it?" Unease settled in her chest. There was still a lot of work to catch up on. Even now, she should be back to those reports. One week away from work measured up in reading. And Dr. Young's reports needed another reading.

"It would start at five, I wouldn't be presenting with the team until six though." Cutting it fine. Shirley would rather work through to half past six, with no interruptions from her last interview for the day. What she could do was bring Dr. Young's paperwork in.

"Ten to six, I'll find my own seat." Lewis gently lifted her face so he could look at her. The sincerity and love in his gaze still made Shirley feel bad. She still had not told him she loved him. If she did, she wasn't sure. What she did know was that she did hold great feelings for him. Right now, with her father, work and Warren, she couldn't say those three words. Not in this state. When his lips met her's, for a small moment she was in blissful peace.

* * *

"Dr. Gibbs?" By this point in time, there weren't many people that talked to her directly in the cafeteria. Being in a rush this morning, Shirley hadn't gotten to eat breakfast, nor lunch. So now she was having the combination of a late lunch and early dinner. The kitchen only supplied basic refreshments, except if you had brought your own lunch along with you. Which left the cafeteria. It was Mr. Gallo. Rocco.

"Rocco?" In her most recent sessions with Warren, Rocco had been even more silent then before. Outside of those sessions, she hadn't seen him. Taking one of the unoccupied seats in front of her, he stretched his back and arms out.

"Mist is worse then usual today," he pondered, shutting his eyes. She knew he was nothing but alert. "Did you hear about Croc? In transit this evening."

"This evening?"

"Yep, Dr. Whistler had another session with him. I heard she was attempting a new approach," Rocco continued to explain, pulling his chair closer to the table but continuing to have a relaxed composure. Shirley wanted to take another bit of her pasta, however Rocco seemed to be waiting.

"Why are you here Mr. Gallo?" She asked, trying her best to sound disinterested. Taking another bite from her fork, she met Rocco's eyes.

"Shirley, would you let me accompany you to the Warden?" This was not the answer she had been expecting. Though she was not sure rightly what she _had_ expected. Warren. No.

"What does he wish?" She continued to eat her meal. Her muffin would have to wait until later it seemed.

"Just a brief meeting."

"I am sure a phone call would have sufficed to tell me this information." To her knowledge, Rocco was not working within that facility. Perhaps that was why she had not seen him of late. Maybe he had been promoted? The thought that a new guard had taken up his position and not introduced himself – that she had not been informed did not sit well with her.

"Well, it may have, had you been in your office. The Warden did not want to make you feel uneasy by getting me to call different parts of the asylum," he replied rising from his seat. Yes, that would be embarrassing. With another bite from her late lunch, she stuffed the muffin in to her pocket and followed Rocco. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was already five. She needed to get back to her office and grab those notes before heading out for the day.

"Did the Warden say what he wanted?"

"No, just that he wanted to see you." Shirley couldn't keep up with Rocco's pace. It unnerved that her that he increased his pace so he was in front of her just a bit, enough to annoy her. Maybe Warden Sharp was unhappy with her work? Or perhaps he was worried about – _recent_ events and it's impact on her thus the asylum. Which upset her more, she didn't know.

"So are we going to the Mansion? This is –" Abruptly, Rocco stopped. Taking a few steps away from her, he pulled out a phone. To her knowledge, guards were not allowed personal phones. The feeling of unease continued to grow. With Rocco giving her no clear reason why Warden Sharp wished to see her, her uncertainty lead away from herself to Rocco. He was withholding something.

"Miss. Gibbs," he drawled, his conversation on his phone now apparently over. Shirley stepped back. A new position, a phone on duty – something was amiss. She remembered her evening with Rocco and his friends. This only supported her uncertainties, turning in to fears. What was his purpose here? "Miss. Gibbs, that was the Warden."

"Why did he not wish to speak with me directly, it would save us both time." His lie was obvious and she knew that he knew he was not fooling her. Tension was cutting through the air between them.

"Because it was not about you – well not completely. There was been a fire, an explosion." She looked around, standing on the path between the Medical Facility – where her office was and the Penitentiary, she saw no damage. By this point in her life, she also knew that an explosion was…loud.

"Here at Arkham? I assure you, Mr. Gallo, an explosion is something that would not go unnoticed," she relied, her tone dripping with her displeasure of the situation. Still, she did want to hear what he had to say. Whether it truthful or not.

"No, no, not here. At Blackgate Penitentiary."

"How does this affect us?" This was not something she had ever thought about. Originally, she had been offered a position at Blackgate. The opportunity however, to work with patients here at Arkham was a much more desirable position for her.

"As of now, they are being moved here, to Arkham Aslyum for temporary holding," he replied, his charming tone now dissipated.

"Warden Sharp has other matters to attend to, I will take my leave." She had heard enough. What she needed to do right now was get back to her office, get her notes and leave. Being here when inmates of Blackgate arrived would only mean she _wouldn't_ be allowed to leave until everything was secure. With the figures she had heard about the prison, Intensive Treatment will have a lot of processing to do. Turning her back on Rocco, she started to walk away. He did not let her get far, with his hand on her upper arm. His grip was not strong, not often to hold her. It was enough to affirm his position in the situation.

"Wait, Miss. Gibbs-" Rocco started, still keeping his indifference intact.

"Dr. Gibbs, Mr. Gallo," she correctly him, taking her arm from his hand and continuing on her way.

"Of course, doctor. There is one other thing I need to tell you." Shirley did not stop walking.

"If I leave now, I'm sure I can avoid lockdown," she pointed out. If he continued to talk, that might not be the case anymore. Tonight she could not disappoint Lewis.

"Gotham City Hall, there was an attack." This was enough to stop her. Before Rocco continued, she knew it was Joker. "Mayor held hostage by the Joker and some college students were hurt, there was apparently some function on."

"Yes? What else?" She snapped, turning around. Her fingers clenched her clipboard, nothing of importance attached to it. Rocco took his time to reply, making his over to her with a swagger.

"The Batman intercepted. He's on his way here now, with the Joker in tow." Rocco continued until he was inches away from her. Shirley could not deny that she felt his intimidation. This man was no Arkham guard. A man with no clear obligation to the law of Arkham Asylum was frightening.

"And the Warden told you all this?" Rocco was now the one that appeared to be anything but amused. Right before her, she saw a whole façade crumple away. She made a movement to run.

"Shirley, come with me."

"Mr. Gallo, I am returning to my office. I suggest you return to your post." It was lost. Shirley had no idea what Rocco, if that was even his name, wanted from her. She was just a doctor. Just a doctor.

"And I insist I accompany you." Shirley started to step backwards, stumbling a bit with her unsteady steps. Rocco only followed her, with grace.

"Mr. Gallo, return to your post!" She yelled, now starting to run. With her poor fitness and height, she did not get far. Rocco quickly wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders. Why was no one noticing what was happening? Where the hell was security! She struggled, attempting to wiggle her way from his grasp. Rocco may not be Arkham security, but he strong and fit. His grip did not waver.

"Miss. Gibbs, I must inform you, I do not take orders from you," he stated in her ear, causing her to slacken with a creeping fear. He began to walk backwards, not caring if Shirley had a firm step. Suddenly, all that lit up their surroundings was the green mist. "But Miss. Gibbs, you will take orders from me."

Then the alarms started.


End file.
